A Love Story
by Synthetic Voice
Summary: My own take on a romance in Dragon Age; Alistair/F!Cousland. Not every fairytale romance ends happily. Appearances by Zevran, Sten, Leliana, Wynne, and Loghain.
1. Decision's Price, part 1

They danced.

With a bellow of fury, Loghain swung the heavy longsword within a hairsbreadth of Elissa's face - only by leaning back on the balls of her feet did she miss the intended blow. She slid gracefully towards the incoming blade, moving around it and within Loghain's guard. A dagger slipped into the space under shoulder and arm, a tiny gap that held barely enough room for her blade let alone the hand grasping it. Then she danced away again, outside of his reach.

His face was a mask of sweat and unrestrained anger; he could barely see for the constant moisture dripping into his eyes. Why did she _dare_ to impose such defiance upon him? His blade swung again, towards her bottom half - she jumped back smoothly, then rolled forward to sweep a leg under him, though only managing to make him stumble in the weighty armor that protected everything but his head. The crowd around them gasped, wondering at her skill and at his seeming failure.

Another dagger slipped into the space of the backside of his right knee; gritting his teeth, he brought the hilt of his sword up, intending to plant it on the head kneeling before him. He had barely brushed the side of it, stroked a hair - she was moving again, to the side away and around him, and his sword followed the movement, thinking she was still low enough to part her head from her body.

And then she wasn't there. He felt a kick in the small of his back flying him forward into the steps leading to the throne - not long ago, his friend Maric had been seated there. What would he think now? He had no time for such thoughts, and he scrambled to raise himself. Elissa's thoughts were on the moment at hand, ever moving, ever aware of the fight; she moved back, waiting for Loghain to recover his footing, unwilling to finish this while he was on the ground.

When he turned back, searching in his frustration for this little _girl_ who thought to play at being a warrior, who somehow managed to best him at every turn. He found her at his right, and swung his arm before he could think. Catching her in the face, he sent her sprawling on the floor, one dagger lost inches away. She scrambled to get up, breath coming faster - now he had her, now this would _end_ and he could get back to matters that were truly important.

Raising his sword for a final blow, she stared up at him with wide gray eyes slightly covered with brown hair gone askew - these children, who knew nothing of war, nothing of what was at stake. Knew nothing of the _price._ His sword rained down, falling forever; time seemed to stand still as all breath was held to see the general claim his victory, as expected; and she _rolled_, found the strength to _roll _out of the way.

His sword met the stone ground, sending a shockwave back into his arms and paralyzing him for but a moment, she sprang to her heels and knock him in the back of the head with the remaining dagger hilt. The pain clapped down his spine and rang in his ears, felling him like an age old oak whose time had long passed. He dropped to one knee, his shield already sprawled on the floor like a shed skin. The sword followed, and he dropped the other knee as he had to raise his chin to accommodate the appearance of a blade.

The grip of her longsword was familiar in her hand, having held the blade a hundred times before; she had drawn it in the place of the missing dagger, drawn it from the sheath hanging from her back. Now she only had eyes for the man kneeling before her. Elissa knew this man well - everyone in the realm did. Everyone knew the Hero of River Dane, the man who had aided King Maric to his throne and had thrown out the Orlesian tyrants.

As a girl, she had dreamed of the grand love affair between Rowan and Maric; growing up, she idolized Loghain's prowess on the battlefield as many youths who longed for more than their homesteads. Finally, she had been content to know that strong leaders were in control of her country as she settled into her music and simple life as the daughter of a noble.

It was difficult to believe that it had been that man who had torn this country apart. _This_ man, whose life was now balanced on the tip of her longsword. His eyes never wavered from her face; his features showed neither fear nor contempt, the latter being an expression he had favored heavily upon meeting her here in Denerim. No, there was perhaps a bit of respect, certainly a slight shock at her ability to deftly defeat him. What struck her the most was that he showed no sign of sorrow or regret for his actions.

_Like Howe_, she thought for a moment, feeling an age-old anger well up within her. But was he like the traitorous arl? Who in this room aside from Arl Eamon and his brother would agree that he had killed the rightful king, usurped the throne with a forced regency, and forbid any outside help in the issue of the Blight? Loghain had caused a civil war, split the country in two when more than ever this was a time that they needed to stand united. _And yet... _

"Wait." Her head cocked to one side at the sound of a voice, breath calming slowly as the adrenaline drained from her body, eyes never leaving the man kneeling before her. Never giving him an inch. It was long past time for mistakes.

Riordan, a Grey Warden they had found in Howe's dungeon, had entered the room unnoticed in the commotion of the duel. He was looking in better spirits and now armed - he had been tortured at Howe's leisure, mostly for the fact that he was Orlesian. It seemed that, for some, thirty years was not enough time to heal the rifts caused by the Orlesian occupancy. It wasn't difficult to fathom. The Orlesians had kept Ferelden on its knees for near a century.

"I have a suggestion, Warden." A formal touch, showing the gravity of the situation. Showing her rank, which she had more than earned. "As it stands, there are but three Wardens in all of Ferelden - I can assure you that there are far more darkspawn. We need every man we can get, and he...he is a general of much reknown."

"Are you suggesting what I think you are?" Alistair's voice was strained, obviously with anger, and a touch louder than necessary; even without looking at him, she knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. She had come to understand him...intimately...after all. Of course Alistair would find Loghain to be a horrendous addition to their ranks; he had so romanticized the idea of the Grey Wardens that it was difficult to believe his descriptions against what she had learned of in the words of others, and in her own education as a child. It all described something much more than simply a white knight in shining armor, doing _only_ good deeds and fighting for causes that were _right_. So relative. So simple. So untrue.

"Is not the joining often fatal? If he survives, you have a new Warden - and if he dies, you have your revenge. Is that not enough?" Anora, Loghain's pretty daughter. Of course a daughter would do anything to save the father she loved. Her words were echoed by the other nobles crowding the throne room, the decision weighing heavy in the air. Despite the evidence of what Loghain had done, they were still willing to follow their Hero of River Dane into the proverbial pits of the underworld and back.

"No! Being a Warden is not a...a.._punishment!_ I will _not_ stand by a man who is a traitor to the crown!"

_We aren't judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits; anyone with the skill and mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us._ Had someone spoke aloud? Though her mind was on the task, she was suddenly unsure of where she was. There had been so many things said of the Grey Wardens, even beside the lies that Loghain had spread; her own learning about the order had not been sparse. She knew of the coup that had occurred years past, and the questionable ethics that some of them employed. However, none of them had matched Alistair's demeanor, his ideals, his morals.

But that had been why she loved him...hadn't it?


	2. A Rose By Any Other Name

Two crackling fires burned steadily, one within a circle of tents - a group of somber people and a large mabari hound crowded one, talking and jesting quietly. The second fire was further put, and a single shadow graced its warmth. The witch had refused to join the others despite all the coaxing in the world - they had finally let her be, and she seemed happier for it. Their commander had wandered away from both fires, towards the woods and hills that surrounded the camp and gave them a slim chance of defense against anyone who might want to sneak up on them. Of course, in her concentration on outward threats, she didn't hear the last member of their company sneak up behind her.

"Commander?"

Momentarily startled, Elissa Cousland turned from thoughts of strategy (the fingers of her right hand had been unconsciously twirling a plain silver ring on a chain) - they had just come from Redcliffe and still needed to seek out the Urn of Sacred Ashes to cure Arl Eamon. Elissa turned to find Alistair, a would-be templar turned Grey Warden, offering her a thorny, wild rose. Here he stood before her, dressed in blood splattered armor, his hair mussed and filthy from dirt, and reeking of sweat and other best left unmentioned things because none of them had had time or thought to bathe in the past few days. Without thinking, she discretely tucked the necklace back underneath her leather breastplate.

"I just wanted to give you this."

Of course, with her quick wit and smart tongue, the absurdity hit her first; she was a novice in anything that might have to do with attraction. A pause came between them - she standing in ill ease, unsure of his motivations; he, wondering why she wouldn't take a simple flower. Finally she took it from him slowly, considering it carefully, when it became obvious that he was stalwart in his gift.

"Alistair...I asked you to call me Elissa. Commander is so..."

"Unnerving? Too much pressure? Masculine? Stop me if I guess it." She smiled but gave him a reproachful look; he only smiled back, pulling his hand away gradually.

Less than a few weeks ago, her priorities had included getting rid of suitors her mother put in her path, setting aside time with her nephew Oren, and learning new instruments. Thoughts of bloodshed and war were far from her mind - she would much rather have been tuning a guitar and making up some song to entertain her parents' guests. Now she was dealing in politics, stopping a civil war, and attempting to save the entire population of her country from an age old evil that promised to tear everything asunder.

There was so much on her mind that she had failed to notice anything near. Everyone who approached her did so only because they wanted something of her - never for one moment would she consider any word, action, or gift to come without any strings attached."I....I don't..." She fingered the rose gently, mindful of its thorns. What a metaphor: a lovely flower, known more for its sharp prick rather than its beautiful petals. Certain proof that beauty - or good, for that matter - did not come without a price. She glanced up from her thoughts and saw Alistair watching her carefully, almost certain that he had done something wrong.

Part of her wanted to drop the flower, drop it and all of the absurd notions that were invisibly tied to it, shying away from what this meant, unsure of what was expected of her in this regard - and the other part was rushing to reassure him that he had not done anything wrong, that in fact it was right. After all, what else had passed through her mind after Ostagar, when Morrigan had informed her of the events? When she had seen his face, known for herself that he was alive, that she was not alone - as she had been after the massacre at Highever.

After all, what could he possibly intend with such a simple thing? She had received blades, armor, things of war. Gems, jewelry, glittering hard things that could have been made of ice. Here was something alive, or had been, something natural, and given - from what she could surmise - freely. Perhaps she was being foolish. She reached forward to place a leather wrapped hand on his steel encased arm, only her fingertips brushing the cold metal.

"Thank you, Alistair. It's lovely." A smile lit her pretty face for a moment. She held up the rose as if this were proof of her words, bringing it to her lips and her nose, tasting soft petals and smelling its rich scent. It was actually quite nice, for once, to simply accept something and not have to worry about the consequences.

"Elissa," he started, drawing the word out as though to taste it in his mouth, and she looked to him again. He held up an iron hand to beg her silence.

"Please, just listen. I had this whole speech planned out, and now you've gone and made me nervous." He spoke with a confident smile, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. Her eyes widened, her smile vanished, and she simply waited for him to spit it out. This, of course, increased his panic.

"You see...I...I picked...oh, Maker's breath. Look, I know it hasn't been easy for you - after all, you were inducted in the middle of all of this. It's not fair that all you've known so far is blood and death. That's not all Grey Wardens are, and I just feel...you'll never get to know that, not at this rate. Wait, wait, that came out wrong," he stopped, putting his hands up again as if to catch back the words. Her hand slid away from his arm, her expression showing a mixture of amusement and concern.

"What I mean is...I want you to know that there's still more than this. There _will be_ more than this. And you're not alone - you don't have to do all of this alone. I'm...we're here. And...please don't forget that," he finished clumsily, trying to smile and failing. The rose still by her face, she pressed it to her lips once more as she soaked in his words. She found herself unconsciously smiling at his bumbling nature; his personality begged kindness and laughter, good times and fun. How he ever came to working well in the Grey Wardens was beyond her, but somehow she knew he didn't belong anywhere else. He needed to fight for what he thought right, and, despite what he might think, he inspired others with his beliefs.

Questions flew through her mind - did she really want this? Her heart fluttered in her chest, a mix of butterflies and unease but her mind was rushing to provide logical advice. After all, had he not just confessed to her that he was the heir the throne of Ferelden? She knew that he didn't want to be king - but she hadn't wanted to be a Warden. She hadn't wanted her family to be slaughtered at the hands of one whom they had called their friend. She wasn't sure if she could stand another gain, something so dear that would eventually be torn away? And it would be torn away - she had no reason to believe otherwise. That was why she kept a dagger of ice in her heart, to dispel notions of comfort, friendship...love.

She didn't have a choice - the Wardens needed soldiers, and the kingdom needed a leader. The people hadn't fought for years to reinstate royal blood over the tyrannical rule of the Orlesians only to let it all go to waste thirty years later in civil war. She had no right to stand in the way of what the people needed.

Maybe she was over thinking it. Maybe this was just a gesture of support, which was something she desperately needed. What of her needs? She had had everything taken from her - was _that_ a requirement of being a Grey Warden?

They took allies where they could. That was what she had been told, and that was what she would do.

"I won't. At least, I'll try not to. A reminder from time to time would be nice," she said, quirking one side of her mouth. Alistair quickly grinned, obviously relieved and pleased with his handiwork.

"That I can handle. Most definitely." Elissa gave a small laugh, another smile gracing a face that had gone so long without.


	3. Thicker Than Water

The Denerim marketplace brought back a slew of memories for Elissa - she and her family had visited the capital often, on both shopping trips and visits to the royal palace. Being the daughter of a teryn and thus nobility brought luxury and burden, the second of which she was only beginning to truly understand.

"Zevran, take the east side of the market. Appropriate details only, please," she added, her eyes meeting his without any sort of amusement. The elf's were opposing, cool merriment leaping throughout his gaze - something to ease the victim before realizing it was too late.

"My mistress deals a harsh command, but if it must be so," he bowed elaborately and turned away, starting off in the direction he had been ordered. The assassin had become a valuable ally ever since she had allowed him to live; such an odd addition to their party, and Alistair had said so on many occasions, though never directly challenging her authority.

"And I?" A light voice broke in, and Elissa turned to smile at an up-beat red head. She quickly banished the expression and nodded.

"The west. Be careful." Leliana's face registered a quick smile, flashing and gone before one could be sure it was there. As she passed Elissa, her hand lit upon her commander's elbow in a silent gesture of support and then she was striding away without looking back. The touch lingered, making Elissa's elbow burn. Her eyes watched her friend walk away, only pulled back when a hesitant hand brushed her shoulder. Her head snapped around, her hackles raised, one hand reaching for a dagger. She froze, realizing who it was - a fellow Grey Warden, a fellow survivor. Her stomach flip-flopped and she relaxed her weapon hand.

"Alistair." The name was only a breath, and the smile that grew forth was true. It was a strange feeling, one that she hadn't felt in weeks. What had it been, a month? Time was passing in leaps and bounds. It had taken a few weeks to get to Ostagar - and only a day for that battle to fail. More time had passed in traveling to Redcliffe - she needed to start keeping track, or else she might find herself out maneuvered by those she was tasked in fighting against. The emotion echoed again - she had not felt so since before the death of her family. It was similar to when she had played her instruments, or when she had fenced with her nephew. She had to stay her hand from reaching out to touch his arm, take his hand - instead, she let her eyes memorize his face.

"And where do I go, o fearless leader?" His eyes quirked in amusement.

"With me." The words hung in the air for a moment, sinking in. Then she turned to walk, pausing so that he might match his stride with hers. They walked in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of the city. Merchants hawking their wares, blacksmiths' hammers smoothing out fresh blades and armor, the sounds of languages meeting and mixing in both harmony and discord. She could almost see shades of her mother and her younger self, browsing jewelry at one booth - she had tried so hard to convince her mother for one particular necklace, only to be denied.

That Winsol, the necklace had appeared amongst her gifts, much to her excitement. Her mother's doting smile was a memory that remained with her always - the necklace was probably in the wreckage that was left of Highever.

And another memory surfaced - she and her brother, running through the stalls when they were younger while their parents visited King Maric at the royal palace. Dressed in good clothes, freshly scrubbed and looking like the pair of noble children that they were, they had had a run in with a group of street urchins. One made a pass at her, and Fergus had protected her honor. She, of course, had joined in on the scuffle, unwilling to let her brother go down on his own.

By the time they had met their parents at the palace gates, they were covered with mud from head to toe and their clothing had enough tears to make them useless as anything but rags. The two children had remained steadfast in their denial of what had happened - secretly, she had revealed in being so close to her brother. Now Fergus was lost, probably dead, in the Korcari Wilds.

"Copper for your thoughts." She snapped back into reality, the world around her falling back into place. One hand reached up to brush grown back hair out of her face and tucking it around an ear to keep it away. She would have to cut it again before it became too much of a hindrance in battle. Glancing to one side, she watched as Alistair's gaze watched her movements, the way his face lit up at watching her fingers move, her hair shift, at her simply _being_.

"Just...remembering." He nodded, leaving the thoughts and questions unfinished. He would be the one to know about opening old wounds. There was so much in common between the two of them, and yet so much distance.

"I have...a favor to ask of you." Their pace continued, uninterrupted. She tucked her arms behind her back, one hand gripping the other's wrist. She was more on edge, simply because they were in Denerim. With Loghain acting as regent, this was his city. There were eyes and ears everywhere - thankfully, they stood out no more than the usual mercenaries or bodyguards. The imposing picture gave those around them pause.

"What is it?" She turned and glanced at him again, her hair sliding loose and falling into her eyes. This time it was Alistair's gloved hand which brushed it back, a movement that caught her by surprise. The coarse leather and cool steel slid along her skin, something that normally would've unnerved her, but knowing that it was his kind hand underneath was calming. The hand continued, tucking a strand of hair behind one curved ear, obviously wanting to continue the journey to other regions of her face and body but he pulled his hand back to himself. He looked lost for a moment, and she gave him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. "You were saying?"

"What I was saying....oh, yes. There's someone I'd like to, uh, meet." Elissa turned in surprise without losing her pace, neatly weaving around two dwarves carrying a chest.

"You mean you actually know someone outside of the Grey Wardens?"

"Oh, _haha_. Very funny." His rolled his eyes at her sarcasm, then a thought passed over his face as quickly as his mind. "And it's not...not one of...not a..."

"Lady of the evening?" Elissa filled in the blank for him, sounding out each syllable with emphasis to bring a glowing blush to Alistair's face.

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean... Actually...it's my sister." Her eyes widened in surprise - there was nothing that would have caused the same reaction, save those words.

"Oh."

A silence fell between them - Alistair thinking that Elissa was giving careful thought to the idea, weighing the time spent on this frivolous errand against more weighty matters. If he had known her better, it would have been obvious that she was thinking again of Fergus, that if it were he here in Denerim, she wouldn't even have asked. She would've gone, without a word to anyone. Alistair waited, and for a time they simply continued walking through the stalls and people. After a minute or two, the quiet dragged on his ears and he _had_ to open his mouth.

"Well, really only _half_ sister, and it's not _that_-"

"We'll go." She cut him off effortlessly, turning to look at him with a serious expression. He met her with a smile, feeling his affection grow. "Where does she live?"

"Near the Alienage. I think...I think this way..." He pointed in a south eastern direction, when Elissa knew that it was more towards the west. She smiled, corrected him, and the two set off with a quick pace.

* * *

The house was small, if there were any way to describe it. Lines and lines of laundry strung out at every possible angle, and a basket set next to the front door proclaimed the profession of whoever lived within. They paused on the property line, Alistair rolling on the balls of his feet as he suddenly had second thoughts.

"You know, maybe we should just call it a day. Zevran and Leliana are probably-"

"Alistair, I know you want to do this. If you don't now, you might regret it later." _If there is a later_, she silently added, knowing that she didn't have to say it aloud for him to get the implied meaning. He stopped fidgeting at once, growing solemn.

"I...I know. It's just, what if she doesn't like me? What if she doesn't believe me?" Elissa pressed a leather gloved hand to his shoulder, trying on a reassuring smile that lit up her features as they were meant to be seen.

"Alistair, what is there to dislike about you? Except for the fact that you never wash your socks?" He couldn't help but crack a grin even though he tried to feign a pout.

"Always with the socks, you and Wynne! If they're so bloody important, maybe you should wash them yourselves..." He muttered to himself, though clearly loud enough for Elissa to hear. She simply shook her head and continued forward onto the lot. They had to weave under and around shirts, pants, skirts, and other unmentionables. The front door was propped open to welcome customers and neighbors alike, and Elissa stopped to allow Alistair first entry. He stopped too, looking at her as if to plead against the idea of him going in first. Rolling her eyes, she fixed the situation with a quick shove and got both herself and Alistair in the door.

"Um...hello?" The inside of the house wasn't much different from the outside - bare walls gave little character, while sparse furniture made one wonder if anyone lived there at all. The only signatory piece was a threadbare quilt on the bed; used pieces of silk were part of the construction, obviously much valued and treasured. A fire crackled in the floor hearth a few feet from the entrance way, and a harsh sounding female voice came around a dividing wall that separated what had to be the kitchen from the rest of the house.

"It's 40 for a single piece, and I'll not go a copper lower. Watch out for what that Neytiri woman says, she's a foreigner and she'll rob you blind. How can I help you folk today?" Following the voice came a pretty blond woman, thin and yet wiry, washing her hands with a cloth. When she was done, she stuffed the soiled rag into a spare pocket, crossed her arms over her chest and waited for a reply, quirking a brow in a fashion similar to Alistair's own. Elissa glanced at Alistair, who had frozen stiff at the pressure. Elissa coughed, bringing Alistair round.

"I, um, I haven't come to get anything washed." Elissa pressed a hand to her forehead in exasperation, allowing it to slide down and wipe her mouth. The man certainly had a way with words.

"Then what can I do for you? I haven't got all day, loads of other things to be done. If you've not come to do business, then I'll have to ask you to leave," the woman replied, preparing to turn back around and finish her chores in the other room.

"I...I've come...is your name...by any chance...Goldana?" The woman froze in mid-motion, turning to face them again and fixed Alistair with a cold stare. The arms returned to their crossed pose and she regarded the two of them warily.

"Do I know you?"

"Yes...well, actually, probably not. It's just that...well..." Elissa gently pushed an elbow into his ribs to encourage brain function. He silently mouthed an _ow_, and glared at her quickly before turning back to the woman.

"See, I'm...well, I'm your brother."

"My what?" Her wariness turned to suspicion, and Goldana took a step forward in a protective stance, ready to defend what little belongings she had. "I don't have a..." Then epiphany dawned, the realization bringing a strange look to her face.

"You. You!" She pointed an accusing finger at Alistair, her eyes lit upon him as though she might strike him down with a single glance. He put his hands up in defense, unsure of what had brought about this response.

"They told me you were dead! They told me that you had died with my mother!"

"Well...actually, no, that baby lived, and I'm he. My name's Alistair." He began to offer a hand in greeting, believing the meeting was going well. That was before the woman before him turned into a harpy.

"You might've well have, for all the good it's done me! You know what they did with me, after she died? Threw me out on the streets with a few silvers to keep me mouth shut! Oh, I knew you were the king's bastard, but they didn't want anyone to know. And when that coin ran out, and I went back, they turned me away! Said you'd died, said you weren't no more! But I knew different, I knew that they were hiding you. I knew you were still alive!" The torrent was unending as her story rained down on the two Wardens. Elissa's heart went out to her, understanding what pain she must have gone through. Alistair, on the other hand, was a little more taken aback by the accusations.

"Yes, well, I'm alive! That's good...right?"

"Bah!" Goldana swatted the words away with a wave of her hand. "Unless you've come to share some of that princely gold, I'll have nothing to do with you! You killed my mother! Everything was well and good, until your father, the king, came along and forced himself on her! Then you went and killed her, and I got nothing! I've got five mouths to feed, and don't need any more!"

"You can't talk to him like that!" Elissa burst out, shaken deeply at the lack of familial bond. Goldana's greed woke a deep seated anger in the leader, moving her towards action.

"Oh? And who're you, one of his servants? Get all high 'n mighty for _his majesty_, 'course no peasant can't talk to him the way she feels like!"

"Don't treat her like that! She's a Grey Warden, and I am too!" Alistair bumbled in with his own defense.

"Ah, a prince _and_ a Grey Warden. Well aren't you _fancy_. Get out! Get out of my house!" She shrieked, pointing a finger viciously at the door. Elissa watched the action with disgust, turning her back on the wretched creature. Looking at Alistair's face, she saw the rejection plain as day - she pressed a hand to his shoulder and steered him back, barely bottling away her own anger.

They left through the front door, the only entrance or exit to the whole house. She pushed him back, and he walked blindly, stunned at the reaction of someone he wanted to call family. A block down from the house she paused, staring at him as he moped. She resisted the urge to slap him.

"Alistair? Alistair. We don't have time for this."

"I know, I just..." He trailed off, the thought completed on his far too blatant features. He tried a soft chuckle, in an attempt to lighten the situation. "I never thought my sister would be such a shrew. I just..."

"What did you expect? Honestly?" He looked up, stunned. A fierce rage radiated from the dark haired woman standing in front of him; she was a completely different person from the one he knew as Elissa.

"Sometimes...sometime you've got to learn that some people are just out for themselves. The sooner, the better." She clenched a fist, attempting to control herself, but only found the ache to hit something. A pang of guilt resounded in her gut when she saw confusion and hurt cross his features, uncomprehending as to why she was angrier than he. More so, why she was taking it out on him. She looked at him, to the market, back again, and finally stalked off into the crowds; looking to start a fight to relieve some of the pressure that had suddenly decided to surface.


	4. Dreams Given By Demons

She had always wondered why the Sloth demon had shown her Duncan. She had barely known the man - after all, the day that he had shown up at Highever was the same day that her whole world had been torn apart. Why should she not associate the man with misery, with horrible memories of the night she had lost everything? But she knew that it was not his fault. Howe's treachery, his hubris and greed was what had caused the murder of her nephew, the slaying of her father, and the sacrifice of her mother.

Sure enough, he had given her purpose and a way to vent her grief, a way through what had befallen her. If he had not been there, she would be as dead as her parents, as Oriana...as Oren. The stranger had been a distant friend, might've become a mentor in time, but there was little more to be said of the relationship beyond that. The weeks they spent traveling to Ostagar were spent in silence and a few gestures, little else; the night when she had sliced off her hair had brought stares from his side of the fire, but he had offered no comment when she tossed the remainder into the flames.

He asked no questions of her, perhaps thinking that she wanted to be alone with her grief and needed time to cope, that she would open up on her own if she wanted to talk. She had remained trapped in the moment of running for her life, of leaving her parents behind, of leaving Highever to burn. Perhaps her mind had been so clouded with grief, concentrating only on the immediate was why it had brought forth that image.

Now she dreamt differently; perhaps it was an aftershock from the demon's ministrations. Dreams came to her every night - most were of the darkspawn and the Archdemon as she waged a nightly war for her own mind. She knew for certain that the sloth demon was dead, but its entrance could have left the door open for other entities who would prey on much more meaningful events locked within.

"Aunt Elissa! Lissa! Wake up! 'Tis Andraste's Day!" Oren bounced on her bed, waiting to see her eyes open. He grinned widely to see his beloved aunt awake and already dressed for the festivities. She was wearing a plain gown, one she favored over her silks and velvets - her hair had been plaited up, but in her sleep the bottom had tumbled down over her back. It was long, as long as it had been when she had cut it for fighting's sake - long hair was more of a weakness in battle, and thus she had forsaken vanity for practicality.

Flowers nestled in her hair, and with bare feet, it was apparent that she was to play the part of the maiden. Her nephew was similarly dressed, sans the flowers, and he eagerly took her hand to lead her down the hall to the festivities. She held back, though - this was a dream. Oren was dead. Wasn't he? Suddenly she pulled him to her, wrapping her arms about him tightly as though he might vanish like a puff of smoke. Despite his surprise, his small arms embraced her as well - a child's delight in the close contact of a loved one.

"Aunt Lissa, what's wrong? Why have you been crying?" Only then did she realize that her eyes ached and a wetness coated her face. She had been crying and she couldn't remember why. Back in her room at Highever, everything in its place - not in the disarray it had been the night of Howe's attack. The sun shined through the window; midday, not dark of night when treachery might make itself welcome. She released Oren, studying his face as though to remember it for all time. Then she smiled.

"Nothing, dear heart. Go downstairs and tell them I will be there soon. Who is here thus far?" Temporarily placated, his child's mind unable to comprehend why his aunt should be sad on such a wonderful day, he quickly began to name guests.

"Well, of course my Mama and Father, and of course Grandpapa and Grandmamma; cousins Gene and Elvira aren't here yet, but will be, and they're bringing Lissle - she pulled my hair last time, so I don't want to play with her today; and Arl Eamon and his wife Isolde, and their son Connor-"

"Arl Eamon Guerrin?" She was retying her hair into its plaits; no doubt her maid, Abby, would be upset that her hard work had gone to waste. But the name stuck in her mind. The arl of Redcliffe, she could recall - surely her father would know the other noble, of course he knew him, what was she thinking... she had met him as a child, though those meetings had been brief and then she had been allowed to go and play.

"Well, go on, then. Let me get changed and I will be down quickly - and tell Grandmamma to not worry," she added in, winking at her nephew. He grinned back, slid off of the bed and ran out of the room. Pausing for a moment to reorient herself, she moved to the vanity to fix her face. Her hair was not in such disarray that it was not displeasing - she might have been a nymph of the woods, fresh but for her eyes.

They were swollen and red, and it was obvious she had been sobbing though she could not remember why; perhaps that was simply another part of the dream. She was quite certain that this was a dream, but that gave no reason why she couldn't enjoy it, as twisted as that might be. Pouring a bowl of cold water in the basin ready for such a need, she washed and applied just a hint of kohl to mask the emotions written on her face. Finally she pried herself away from the mirror, slid on a pair of leather thongs and made her way into the halls of Highever.

More flower petals littered the floor, and the sweet scent of Andraste's Grace filled the air - the sacred plants were kept safely in pots and would be replanted into soil after the joyous day had ended. _It reminds me of my mother_, Leliana had told her once, and she had made it a point to pick some for the woman who was becoming a close friend when the flower appeared along the side of the road on their travels. She knelt for a moment to finger the petals, but a shout woke her from her reverie.

"Elissa! Come _on_, my girl, come and join us!" It was Bryce Cousland, her father. Standing there, the man who had raised her and loved her and taught her all she knew. Her _father._ Crouched on the floor, she was frozen for a moment - then she was on her feet, moving towards him, throwing her arms around him. He was no dream - solid shoulders and neck and chest and he had the same smell of leather and mabari and the soap he used. Stunned for a moment, his arms clasped around her and he laughed.

"What's wrong, my dear? You were only in your room for an hour!" It was all she could do to be absolutely sure that he was really there - Oren was here, her father; that meant the others must be, too. She wanted to stay within this dream forever. She released him and fell back for a moment, leaving her hands on his shoulders as though to continuously reassure herself. She searched his face: he was no automaton, he was real. A smile flashed, then a grin, and finally she laughed. Bryce quirked a brow, but grinned. His daughter had always had her own mind, and it was beyond him to press an answer out of her. He hugged her once more, to her obvious delight, before taking her hand and nearly dragging her into the next room.

There she was overcome by faces and sights and laughter. The room was full of family (though she knew quite well that she, her mother and father, and her brother and his family were all that were left of the Couslands, far be it from her to allow her dream self to imagine more people with whom she could share blood ties) and friends, all gathered here to celebrate the day of their beloved prophet Andraste. Her mother was there; Fergus, with his beautiful wife Oriana, Oren not too far away from her at any time; cousins and aunts and uncles all around her. It was all she ever wanted and ever would want, she was so sure of it. There was nothing that would take her away from all of this. Her mother took her arm and pulled her away for a moment.

"You remember Arl Eamon, don't you, dear?" The man bowed politely, but did so with a smile. An elderly gentleman, he was less regal than he was grandfatherly, though his age was nowhere near that. His wife had to be twenty years his junior, but there was love in their gestures and looks, and their child was fondly and carefully cared for - their marriage was similar to the Couslands, a marriage of love and honor that had lasted. Elissa might wish for such for herself someday, but it wasn't the foremost concern on her mind.

"Of course, Mother. How could I ever forget the man who bought me my first pony?" She smiled kindly and curtsied as propriety demanded, then embraced the man as he laughed. Holding her shoulders for a moment, he appraised her as though she were his own daughter. "She's a lovely young woman, Bryce," he said, while looking into her eyes. "You're going to make some man very happy some day." Elissa smiled in return but rolled her eyes to clarify her sentiment.

"There's more to life than making a home, Eamon," she replied; it seemed that this was a conversation she had had a dozen times before. She couldn't help but wonder if her mother had coached the arl on this conversation.

"But it's very important, dear," Isolde broke in, her Orlesian accent adding flavor to her words. "A home is necessary for everyone - after all, what do you call all of this?" She held out her hands at the gathering, the roaring fire in the fireplace backlighting the occasion and giving off a cheery warmth. Elissa had to admit that the woman was right, though her argument would've been that she was still young and had more time to think of other things rather than marriage and children. Before she could reply, however, Eamon had disappeared and reappeared with someone in tow.

"Elissa, I want you to meet my ward." The young man turned and smiled bashfully, his close-cropped reddish blond hair and blue eyes creating a picture of youthful innocence. He was dressed similarly to Eamon, proudly wearing the Redcliffe crest.

"I didn't know you had another under your roof, Eamon," Bryce broke in, filling in the space where Elissa had left silence. The two youths were staring at one another - he in unsure greeting, she in shock. Why was he here? He had no place in this dream, in this world. It should've been...but she couldn't even bring herself to think the name. It had been so long. It seemed that even her dreams were telling her to move on, that happiness was right before her eyes.

Before that horrible night, there had been no chance of her ever meeting him, and yet now, it seemed that everything was falling into place - a 'should have been' scenario where she got everything she was supposed to have - a loving family, close friends, a knight in shining armor to whom she could play the damsel. But she knew that she was no damsel, and for a moment, she felt ill at ease in this dreamscape.

"Alistair had been sent to be schooled in the Chantry - the intention was to have him dedicated as a Templar, but he was so unhappy that we brought him home," Eamon answered, grasping Alistair's shoulder in a display of warmth. Alistair responded with a grin towards his caretaker, and then turned back to Elissa. He reached out to take her hand, which she supplied without thinking. He kissed the skin between her thumb and forefinger with soft lips, an intimate gesture.

"A pleasure - Eamon has not stopped talking of you since we left the estate. I was told there'd be a test, so feel free to question me at your liberty, dear lady," he joked, trying to break what he believed to be anxiety on her part. Elissa blinked, and let her face shiver a smile or three before attempting words.

"Uh...yes...I mean...it's a pleasure to meet you, Alistair," she stuttered out, letting her hand rest in his a moment longer before pulling it back. He felt as real as the others, and the warmth of his hand was comforting.

"You could've warned me," she muttered to her father. He whispered back, "Your mother would've killed me, dear."

Eleanor leaned in between the two of them. "Please at least think about it, _dear_. He's a nice young man, and..."

"And I _just met_ him, Mother," Elissa replied back, wondering if that was what her mother would truly have said of him. Of course it would be - Alistair was proper, a gentleman, bred by the Chantry's rules. He would have been the perfect choice, according to her mother. The group fell into a lapsed silence for a moment.

"Elissa, why don't you sing us a song? To celebrate this wonderful occasion, with all of our friends and family present," Eleanor announced loudly, not allowing Elissa any leeway to back out. Oren appeared with her lyra, pressing it into her hands. If there was anything he enjoyed more than swordplay, it was music; one taste he had learned from his beloved aunt. Voices chimed in, agreeing to the suggestion and a chair was produced. Next thing Elissa knew, she was sitting and calling up the words for an appropriate song.

She smiled, and playfully glared at her mother and others who 'forced' her into this position. Balancing the lyra on the floor, she raised the wand and began with a soft note that gave way into a happier jig. Words formed in her throat and slowly began to spill from her lips.

"See beyond the moment - think beyond the day;

hear the word, my voice will not be cast away.

Fatalistic fortune ever near the end,

love goes on but time will never return again.

"Across the sky I will come for you,

if you ask me to.

Demystify your uncommon dreams -

stranger things have come true."

Smiles spread across the faces of those she held most dear - it was as though Andraste were speaking. It was a simple song of a lass speaking to her love, but that analogy worked well for the Maker and his prophet, his bride. Some swayed to the music, and others mouthed words that they all knew. Elissa's eyes lighted on each person in passing, the words coming to her as naturally as breath, her fingers finding purchase on the instrument without error.

Finally she came to meet eyes with Alistair, who was watching her with a quiet fascination. She was not unused to men staring at her, desiring of her, but his stare was not lecherous; perhaps a simple interest, perhaps just a bit more.

"Fear no more the midnight, fear no more the sea:

you're safe with me.

Look into the shadows, step into the mist -

search your land but doubt never I still exist."

She left off into the chorus again, never breaking contact with his gaze. Though her face remained stoic, she thought over the emotions that she felt when looking at him: familiarity, affection, annoyance, and respect. Wonder and a feeling of comfort. Comfort in the face of a mutual loss, pain that blazed red and painful; but was that enough to create a strong bond between them, when they truly knew so little of each other? Nothing in his eyes spoke to her of what she was thinking - he was a part of this tableau, another fixture...another...there was something wrong, something terribly wrong.

She continued to play, but the notes sounded sour and her voice was dropping, disappearing. Footsteps, heavy and malicious, were coming down the hall way. No one turned to look, and the bodies separated her sight from the doorway. She stood as the newest guests entered, her instrument hanging limply from her hand.

"I see I haven't arrived too late for the party," Arl Rendon Howe's sniveling voice entered the room before he did, threading his way through the crowd to stand in front of all. Backed by full armed guards, they filled the room past capacity and paused for a moment, obviously awaiting the arl's instructions. Strange, how no one moved - all eyes were still on her. She wanted to open her mouth to scream at them, to run, to get away before it was too late; but she was as powerless as she had been before. Even Alistair, standing there, was still staring at her but had no sign of anxiety on his innocent features.

She looked at their smiling, complacent faces before looking back to the arl. He smiled menacingly, and then raised a fist, dropping it in one smooth, decisive motion. The guards fanned out, grabbing guests by the hair to tilt their heads back and slit throats; swords blossomed from chests, staining expensive silks and satins. The guests fell one by one, moving not a muscle in their own defense, all nothing but puppets for her amusement. The whole-sale slaughter didn't end there - her parents, her mother holding her father's hand, fell as one. Alistair, with a smile on his lips, had his throat slit from ear to ear and fell to the floor, his eyes open to watch everything. Seeing that she had done nothing, and smiling for it.

Their warm blood sprayed her face, her dress, her instrument - the shock of it stung worse than a million cuts of glass. Oren, his parents, her _brother_...and she stood by, frozen as a rabbit is before the hound. Howe himself approached her, clad in black like some story tale villain. He brought a finger to his lips as he closed the distance between them, the glove bearing the crest of Mac Tir protecting his flesh from stain. She dropped her lyra, heard it smash on the floor.

"Hush," he said, smiling, one hand holding a finger to his lips as the other raised a gleaming dagger between them. She suddenly sought to wake, to no longer linger in a dream that held no reality for her - she had been willing to sink into it, to live in the past that had been taken from her - but of course it was far too late to realize her folly. The dagger sank deep, cleaving flesh into a mouth that sucked the blade into organs and brought pain spilling out. Blood dribbled from her lips, staining pale flesh red.

She had no time to scream as the motion replayed, his arm making the thrusts cleanly and with more than a little pleasure. She stumbled back, wrapping an arm around her stomach in a vain attempt to protect herself, eyes staring at him in shock - everything was clear now. The past was dead, as was this Elissa - she fell to the floor amongst her family, finally at home.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The song is _Across the Sky_ by Emilie Autumn


	5. Star Crossed, part 1

Attack.

They had been traveling from Denerim towards Haven, a hamlet that was supposedly the beginning of the path to the Urn of Sacred Ashes - another week passing, more time being spent on something that should have been something else. Over and over in her mind she wondered why she was spending so much time on this - after all, she could have simply asked Teagen to stand in for his brother, to muster the troops and gained his alliance in Eamon's stead. The people of Redcliffe were obviously more than willing to follow him after he had lead the defense the night the village had been attacked by the undead - undead streaming from Eamon's castle, summoned by his demon-possessed son.

Of course, no one knew those details, but if they did, Teagan would be named Arl faster than a dwarf devoured a nug. Then she could have been on her way to collect the Dalish, or headed towards Orzammar to petition the dwarves.

She told herself over and over that she was not doing this for _him_, especially not in way of an apology after what had occurred in Denerim (they had barely spoken since), instead thinking that it was right and good and she knew it would help her sleep at night. After all, just because Eamon had raised Alistair in the absence of his true father, just because Alistair had known Redcliffe as home, that didn't mean anything. There was the idea that Eamon had been a friend of her father's, but that too was irrelevant.

The extra trip was costing them time that they did not have - and yet she convinced the others that they needed to go, that Eamon was more than just a leader. He would be an invaluable ally in the days to come, especially against Loghain. The traitor had all of the nobles standing with him, and Eamon was popular - surely he would make the others see sense and draw their support.

It was along this road that they were assaulted by an contingent of darkspawn - it wasn't so much that the creatures were looking for them, though Alistair and Elissa sensed the creatures long before seeing the them due to their exposure to the taint. Which only meant that the darkspawn sensed them as well, and before they knew or could avoid it, arrows were rushing through the air and pushing them to duck towards the ground.

A small horde, almost, wandering far from the Wilds and more than likely slaughtering any villages that lay in their path. Who knew how many innocents had been slaughtered; worse, who knew how many had been turned, and how much smaller had the original group of darkspawn been? There was no way to know now, but their Grey Warden awareness gave them a chance to stop the group in its tracks.

The ground around them was fouled and broken, grass shriveled and trees barren, almost as hideous as the creatures themselves - how could anyone say that this was not a Blight, regardless of the appearance of an Archdemon? Genlocks fired hastily crafted arrows from well oiled short bows as Hurlocks bellowed challenges and began to charge forward towards the party, armed with rusty blades and worn shields.

Wynne drew her staff and raised it into the sunlight, sending forth a blaze of frost and freezing the first wave in their tracks. Sten burst forward with Breslin behind, swinging his great sword in a wide arc and shattering three frozen Genlocks before the bright sun had a chance to melt them. The mabari raced through the frozen statues to catapult onto live Genlocks, snapping huge jaws around their heads and crushing them like overripe melons.

Deadly arrows flew through the air, well made and fletched with colorful feathers, catching darkspawn in the head and other vitals - Leliana providing support for the other members of their party to wage a thorough frontal assault. Alistair and Morrigan were following behind Sten, she already transformed into a spider as large as a man and he dressed head to toe in Templar armor accompanied by sword and shield. They pushed out and around the enemy, swiftly cutting them down - but for every one they killed, five more appeared. This was the danger of the darkspawn - not intelligence, not tactics, but sheer numbers. They were a plague.

The darkspawn had never been completely obliterated; thus the constant need of the Grey Wardens. Elissa, moving to the left, and Zevran, in a counter move, snuck around behind the warriors from opposite directions, light on their feet and deadly with their blades, cutting down the darkspawn from the back as the creatures worked to overwhelm the warriors in front of them. Confusion reigned over the darkspawn on the battlefield as the small party overwhelmed the surprise attack, a complete reversal of what might've happened.

Leliana's arrows quickly took care of an Emissary that could have become been a bigger threat - Sten's huge blade cut through three and four Genlocks at a time, two Hurlocks if he was lucky. This carried on for only moments more, the battle waning in their favor before the earth began to tremble, and a loud bellow and smell fouled the air.

"Maker's breath..." Elissa gasped as she turned to find a ten-foot-tall, blue skinned ogre charging at her, closing the distance with each passing second. Time slowed as every member of the group turned their eyes towards the fray: the monster grabbed her up and swung her into the air in one huge extremity. Zevran, being closest, moved first to sink blades into the creature's thickly hided astragalus; but his daggers did little more than irritate the giant and with one imprecisely aimed kick, it sent the assassin sprawling as its attention stayed on the toy in its paw. Refusing to scream against the pressure growing against her thin frame, Elissa sank her own blades into the soft skin between forefinger and thumb, pressing in to the hilt.

The ogre screamed in her face, saliva and worse things flying past and onto her, but instead of releasing her, it squeezed its fist closer and she could feel ribs crack as she struggled to breathe. The frozen moment ended as Sten rushed forward, greatsword swung back for a wide blow, backed by Alistair and Morrigan, Breslin closing in behind them and finishing off any other fallen darkspawn - but the Templar, the would've-been-Templar, reached the creature first, running faster than imaginable, rage and fear and adrenaline blinding him.

He raised his sword over his shield and bashed into the ogre at full tilt, actually managing to knock the giant back a pace. It was surprised for a moment, and suddenly Elissa was falling through the air. She landed heavily on the ground, falling hard on the small of her back and shoulders. It jarred her and a bolt of pain flashed through her body, lighting up her nervous system like a night sky full of burning stars, and it was then that she screamed.

Wynne made a bee line for the fallen Warden, but was slowed by the stragglers of darkspawn left. She dealt with them as quickly as she was able, the rest of the party concentrating on the ogre. Sten jumped in the creature's path, moving his sword with deadly accuracy and drew the beast's attention away. Alistair assisted Sten, keeping his body between the creature and Morrigan, ensuring that there would be more than enough blockades to keep the Warden safe.

Morrigan, still in her spider form and screeching in the creature's strange language, stood over the screaming Warden to protect her while a few remaining Genlocks looked to finish the injured commander - the arachnid was cut in several places, dripping a clear liquid onto the spoiled ground, yet fighting back the enemy with little issue. Sten drove the ogre back with long strokes of his greatsword. Zevran concentrated on stragglers, moving slowly from a concussion, killing darkspawn as quickly as he could in order to defend those taking on the ogre.

As the rest of the darkspawn fell, Leliana moved her efforts to supporting Sten, prayers to the Maker muttered under her breath, shooting the ogre in the face in an attempt to blind it; the mabari hound joined the others, snapping viciously at any darkspawn who still dared to breathe. Soon enough, the ground was littered with bodies of darkspawn and the ogre looked to soon be joining them. Morrigan moved away from Elissa's fallen form and looked to aid those taking down the ogre; Alistair, however, remained in place, unwilling to give up his role as protector.

As the battle waned, Elissa found herself back on her feet, her skin paling even more than normally with the threat of internal injuries. She hugged her side and favored a leg, but refused to let that slow her down. Slowly the battle halted, a few remaining darkspawn running into the distance; the ogre was heaving its last amidst corpses that spanned an area of twenty feet. It was clear the ogre was failing, slowly, but falling towards its inevitable doom. One Achilles' tendon had been severed by Sten's long sword, and the leg it favored was drenched in blood spurting from a dozen wounds from constant attacks from Zevran, who had reappeared after recovering from the ogre's kick. The beast fell to its knees.

"Fall back!" Her voice was lost amidst the mayhem. She began to run.

Despite her injuries, Elissa's full attention was on the creature that had dared to make an attempt on her life. Her knuckles grew white around the hilt of the Cousland family sword - an antique passed down through generations of Couslands, a blade meant for her brother and not her hand - and, forgoing the pain, she brought the weapon back in a timed motion, her feet finding purchase for a moment before catapulting her into the air, aiming for the throat of the beast. Sten dropped back, surprised at the sudden entrance of the Warden; Alistair, who had missed her in the tight limit of sight his helmet allowed, was shocked into a standstill.

The blade sank into the blue skin and purple blood with surprising ease, and the ogre's gurgled cries were lost to her as the cascade of blood drenched her armor completely. Something in her side was screaming, the pain in her mind making her nauseous with any movement, but she was dedicated to her task. Slowly she carved to one side, opening a maw in the creature's neck. With the forward movement of her body into the troll, it began to fall backwards over bent legs and landed with a thud on the blood-soaked ground.

Standing shakily, she attempted to pull her sword free of the flesh it was embedded in. Both the sword and her body protested - the metal was slick, and her body had had enough. She stumbled off of the corpse, her companions rushing towards her. Breslin reached her first, head butting into her leg gently and offering his head for her to lean against. He whined, softly, and she looked down at him with a slight smile before she collapsed, just as Alistair was reaching to catch her.


	6. Star Crossed, part 2

She insisted on standing watch that night. Once the ogre had fallen, the group had moved on quickly - moving miles up the road to find a clean spot to make camp. Strangely enough, Elissa hadn't been the worst wounded of the lot - Zevran had a few cracked ribs from the ogre's kick and Morrigan had carried cuts over from her spider form to her true, human one that would rival any gaping maw. They had all tended to each other as best as they were able and once night fell, Elissa insisted on taking the first watch despite Wynne's arguments.

"You will do no one any good if we are attacked in the middle of the night," the older woman had insisted. After all, had they not had to nearly carry her the distance they had traveled in order to make camp? Strip her of her armor for cotton replacements, because it was so caked in gore that it was nearly useless? Put away her family blade, for her actions had dulled the edge so? Still she had her daggers, and her poison. Still she had her reflexes and reactions, as dulled as they might be from her injuries and the medications given to restore her.

"True, but I can at least alert you all - but it's doubtful that we'll be attacked. Whatever naturally occurring beasts there might have been have been scared off or killed. And those that were infected in these parts are now dealt with. I think we should have little to fear." Wynne found she was too tired to further the argument. Her age and spell casting were taking a toll on her.

In the end, however, Elissa was the leader of the group and it was obvious she would brook no other affront to her command. One by one they settled into their individual tents - Breslin laid down by his mistress's side, and Elissa planted one pale hand on his large canine head in silent affection. He huffed once, content, then drifted off to sleep; his ears would flit back and forth at any sound, keeping him alert. One arm wrapped tentatively around her still sore middle, she stared into flames that were slowly turning into embers.

She nearly drifted off into slumber herself, the after effects of potions, healing and poultices, when the sound of quiet footsteps caused her to snap back into consciousness - she spun on the balls of her feet, hair flying over her face and vision, her wounds screaming with the quick movement, drawing out a poisoned dagger and holding it to the throat of the silent attacker. Breslin leapt up growling at anyone who would dare attack his mistress.

Which, of course, was Alistair. Sucking breath in between her teeth, she slowly removed the blade and made sure she hadn't nicked him. He, likewise, remained still until the dagger was gone; his eyes were wide but not wary, as though he fully trusted that she would not have slit his throat. The poison was not mortal, but it would paralyze and cause intense pain.

"Why are you sneaking up on me?" She slid the blade home in its sheath, and turned slowly so as to not exacerbate her wounds further. Mouth set in a grim line, she let her eyes drift back to the flames. He didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to continue his silent walk to a log adjacent to hers, joining her in her watch without being invited. His face was less stoic, instead his usual cheerful self, as though nothing could extinguish the bright enthusiasm behind his eyes and the smile dancing on his lips - a strange combination for someone who's life had been dedicated to battle and violence.

_Concern, that's all this is, _Elissa thought to herself, though she was glad to see that he was back to being happy around her. Ever since their spat in Denerim, he had been distant. This was the first time he had approached her outright. She settled back into her seat, Breslin hunkering down with her. He glared at Alistair for a few moments longer, then shifted himself back into sleep, curled up protectively at Elissa's feet. She laid a hand on her beloved mabari's head and then looked over to Alistair, waiting for him to brook whatever topic he wished to discuss.

"What do you want to do when this is all over?" The question was both surprising, and not - she had just been discussing the topic with Leliana the other day, of how she'd like to see the world. Especially now that there was really nothing for her here in Ferelden. Elissa had never been outside of her home country, and Leliana amused her with tales of Orlais and Antiva, the Anderfels and Rivain. She found the girl a refreshing companion who was near to herself in temperament and inclination - the two had spent an entire afternoon talking about hairstyles and lyras (though Leliana much preferred the lute), much to the chagrin of the rest of the group.

But reality dawned on her, the fact that she probably wouldn't live to see such far off places, that the most likely thing waiting for her after this was all over was an very refined and early grave. After everything that she had loved had been ripped away from her, she didn't trust that anything good would ever come her way again. She raised a hand to her nose and thumbed it.

"I don't know - what about you?" She shot the question back at him in order to buy more time for herself. He tilted his head back, looking up to the stars and not even taking a moment to consider the answer; it was apparently a question he had given long thought to.

"I'm not sure: I suppose go to Anderfels, to the Grey Warden headquarters. If they could use me, or if we could bring the order back to Ferelden." She eyed him, watching the fire light dance with shadows over his face. For all of his bluster and boyishness, there were some qualities of a man about him. The sense of duty and purpose, for one. The desire to do good. She found she could respect that in him, even if she knew in her heart that she didn't agree with him on all points.

"I mean, after we defeat this Blight, it'll be more than obvious that the Wardens are still relevant and needed," he continued on, completely unaware of the slow smile that was growing over Elissa's face as she watched him gain momentum in his little speech. "I was thinking we might be able to reclaim the old Warden base in the mountains. Sure, it'll be run down after so many years of disuse, but get some recruits and soap in there and it'll be spic-an-span before you know it..." He glanced at her and smiled bashfully.

"What about the whole Theirin bloodline thing?" She waved her hand to imply a casual air. Her question was an honest one, seemingly simple and yet his answer would be weighed over and over.

"Do you really think I'd make a good king? I don't want it, and I'm sure the people would do fine without me." He laughed it off, but deep down she knew he was serious. He was afraid of leadership, afraid of any sort of decision that held people's lives in the balance. That was why she was the commander here, and not he, though he was the senior Warden by six months. His attitude irked her; how did one deny duty, and still feel honorable? The thoughts left a cross look on her face, leaving Alistair to wonder what he had said. They fell into an awkward silence for a few moments.

"I do hope that I'm not intruding on your solitude, if you had some serious brooding to do or anything," he continued when she didn't pick up the silence. She smiled at him again, this time less kindly, though it might have more to do with the pain in her belly rather than anything he had said or done. His face fell a little, and she found herself scrambling to help him back up.

"No, it's not you. It's just...I'm still coping with all of this." She picked up a stick and prodded the embers, pulling one last leap of flame from them. Alistair leaned, straightening his back and cracking his knuckles as he groped for something to say. Elissa spoke up before he had a chance. "It's certainly not what I'd expected to be doing with my life; it's so...different." The silence returned before his curiosity got the better of him.

"What was it like before? I mean, what would you have been doing, if not this?" What could she possibly say? Spending time with her nephew, who delighted in attempting to surprise her whenever they sparred, or even in her attempts to teach him music? Avoiding her mother and her efforts in match-making, when she was only intent on seeing her daughter happily settled? Or simply her father, who was content with her in whatever she did? Her home, her life...all of it ripped away in one move of jealous greed.

The emotions played over her face plainly - anger, regret, sorrow - and Alistair immediately lamented what had sprung to his mind so easily. Elissa glanced back at him, and though she had plenty of choice words to make him more sorry for his carelessness, she found herself reminiscing one thing in particular.

"Dancing." Alistair's mouth quirked for a moment before a raised brow joined it. Somehow, he found the picture of her in a fancy dress spinning away during a holiday or ball laughable. But then again, he admonished himself, he didn't know who she had been before all of this had been brought upon her. Reaching to unlatch his shoulder strap, he set down the guard on the ground without too loud of a thump; slowly the rest of his upper armor followed and a pile appeared next to his seat. Elissa stared at him as she wondered what he was getting at, when he was suddenly standing and holding out a hand to her. She glanced at it and then at him, both brows raised in a quizzical manner.

"Come on," he urged. He waved the hand as though to prove it meant no harm, and slowly she raised her own. He took the small, pale palm in his own rough, tanned one - it wouldn't be long before that paleness of hers was gone, lost to the sunshine and the outdoors. She wasn't sure if she would miss it or not. It was a sign of nobility, a mark of her stature in life. It was also a reminder of her past, and she didn't wonder if letting go of it would be one unconscious step towards healing. He took a firm grasp of her hand (calloused and yet the skin was still young and soft, a strange paradox) and helped her to stand, gently, mindful of her tender area.

He reached out and took her other hand, setting it on his shoulder where the guard had been; the cotton shirt that rested underneath his breastplate was little protection from the soft heat she could feel in the palm of her hand. Hesitantly he slid a hand on her waist, a polite distance from her thigh and rear.

"I didn't know the Chantry gave dancing lessons," Elissa remarked aloud as she listened to Alistair mutter under his breath the steps to a basic waltz. He grinned cheekily.

"I learned this while I was still at Redcliffe - Eamon was throwing a party after his wedding, and I watched the dancers from the next room." When Elissa looked at him inquiringly, he explained. "I wasn't allowed to participate - Isolde had a strong dislike of me from the moment she met me - but I could watch. Could as in I sneaked in through the kitchen and watched from one of the doorways. I convinced one of the maids to teach me the steps; well, not exactly, more she wanted to dance and I was the only available partner." Elissa smiled at the picture of a much younger Alistair, muddying his way through a simple set of steps and managing to walk all over his partner.

So far he was being careful and hadn't stepped on her foot once, but they were making slow progress. Stepping closer into his guard, she slid his hand to the small of her back, took a firm grip of his guiding hand and took the lead. His startled for a moment, before going back to the cheeky grin.

"I see your leadership skills extend to off the battlefield," he snidely commented as she picked up the tempo a pace. She glared at him playfully.

"I haven't always been a warrior - just like Leliana hasn't always been a Chantry sister, or you haven't always been a Warden, though that example is a weak one," she retorted, watching the fading firelight play over his features. She felt his arm move a little more tightly around her middle, a sly attempt to pull her closer, causing a sharp pain to shoot up her side. She hissed, winced, and stepped back, killing the dance.

"Maker, I'm sorry, are you all right?" He instantly let go of her hand, as if he would cause her more damage that way. She laid a delicate hand on her side, willing the pain to pass. What a moment to be injured...

"Maybe Wynne was right - you should lay down, I'll take the watch from here..." Elissa shook her head vigorously.

"No, I'm fine. I'm fine. I have to be fine," she muttered under her breath. The pain subsided and she straightened. "Please, Alistair, it's all right. Can we just go back to what we were doing before?" He still paused, as if unsure to trust her at her word. She stepped forward - always stepping forward to carry the bulk of anything - and caught his hands with her own, encircling herself in his arms.

"Just be gentle," she whispered, putting both of her own hands on his chest and laying her head down too. He was surprised at her sudden relent, ecstatic at the sudden contact, and concerned, all rolled into one. For a moment they just stood in the middle of the camp next to the dying fire, smoldering in its embers. Slowly, they began to rock together with a simple motion, finding a rhythm they could work at together. For the first time in these long days, she felt safe and able to let go of the facade she found herself always carrying for the sake of the others. She was their leader, and leaders did not doubt, did not brook arguments, did not fail.

For some reason, she had risen to the task well, despite her youth and inability. The others had taught her combat, and she had brought them all together through one means or another. She made them fit together and work together, all with one common goal. But for now, she had no goal, no one to impress, no one to lead. Perhaps she might tweak his step a little, or encourage a tighter grip from his uncertain movements, but for now she was content to do nothing but stay in the moment.


	7. Masochistic Personality Disorder

"This is pointless." The group stopped, and three members turned to the fourth, a taciturn giant with ashen skin. Elissa stepped forward, concerned.

"You have second thoughts, Sten?"

"Why are we here? We are moving away from the Archdemon, unless you mean to go so far south that you eventually sneak up behind him." Elissa glared, one hand rising up to settle on her hip as she began to wonder how serious this would get.

"I've already told you - told the _group_ why this is important. We must gather the ashes - "

"I know the purpose, but this is a foolish errand. You are not so much leading us as we are wandering from place to place." He drew his blade, a great sword that was as tall as Elissa herself. The hand on her hip slid down an inch towards a dagger hanging from a holster - Alistair had his own blade drawn, and Leliana was reaching for an arrow to notch in the short bow aimed towards the qunari. Elissa raised a fist to her fellow travelers, commanding them to hold. Leliana and Alistair exchanged glances, the tension apparent in their stances, but followed the order.

"Why did you wait until now to say this?"

"Perhaps it was some similarly unwise thought that you would see sense." He held the sword with little effort, hefting it in one huge hand. "I will now take command. The Arishok will not be forgiving if I return with nothing."

Elissa's eyes narrowed. "Did you not swear fealty to me? That you would help me end the Blight?"

"I did, but you are not ending the Blight. You are merely wasting time."

"Is this how the qunari treat their leaders? Follow until they disagree with a decision, believing they know better? I thought they were more organized than that." The qunari's violet eyes narrowed in response, revealing that he felt slighted. His posture softened for a moment, and Elissa pressed on.

"We have been traveling for the better part of a month, just on this one task. Don't you think I know how little time we have? This is my home, this," she pointed to the ground beneath her feet, "This country here. If I am too slow, then it dies. My people die. I die. You? You have a country to return to. But how long will it be before the Blight spreads there? How long-"

"Do not lecture me. That is why I believe you are unfit." Elissa gritted her teeth in frustration. She didn't have time to convince him again, but neither did she want to lose a member of her party who had grown important. There had been protests from her other party members against recruiting the caged foreigner in Lothering - she had convinced them that he would be valuable. She had no desire to regret that decision, but that was before he drew a blade on her.

Her hand was suddenly gripping the dagger, the knowledge only just now making itself available to her. Fighting against the urge to glance down at the weapon, she forced herself to release it, moving both hands to her sides, and stepping towards the giant.

"This is what I know - I have been forced into this role. I have been pushed into it, kicking and screaming. I have had everything else taken from me until I have nothing _but_ this role. And I will die before I see this country overtaken, and I will _not_ be belittled by a qunari who believes that he knows better because he does not understand another culture. You _will_ stand down and abide by my decisions, or you will leave."

Neither moved for a moment, becoming lifelike statues locked in a combat of wills. Leliana was slowly raising an arrow to her bow, believing that she would soon be firing on one of her own party members - but she was more than willing to kill the qunari before he could hurt their commander. Alistair was likewise poised to strike; it was obvious who was the leader of their small band of misfits.

Though his violet eyes hadn't left her features for a moment, it seemed that he had taken in the entire scene, and before she could realize it, he was stepping back and replacing the blade in its sheath on his back. She stepped forward, never giving ground, so that both were standing easily within three feet of each other.

"That is more convincing. Though I still find this pointless - but at least you are willing to listen to those following your command." His face remained impassive, and Elissa was unsure whether he had just complimented her or was merely remarking on the situation. She gave a slight nod and turned on her heel. They continued up the path, towards the village called Haven.

* * *

They had finally reached it - the ruined temple of Andraste, the location of the prophet's holy ashes. Brother Genitivi had not been at his residence in Denerim; his assistant had claimed he had gone to Lake Calenhad, in search of some new clue regarding the ashes. When Elissa had become suspicious and pressed him, the lad had started confusing his story. She had asked to take a look at Genitivi's private study, and the apprentice protested lethally.

A quick fight and the imposter lay dead on the floor. In the back room lay papers describing a village in the mountains, along with the true body of Genitivi's assistant. After a quick stop at camp, they had ventured to Haven only to find the entire village gone mad with some cult; they were worshipping a dragon believed to be Andraste reborn. The leader had attempted to convince Elissa to desecrate the ashes so that Andraste would become whole in her new form, but instead, in her repulsion, she had struck him and his followers down.

Now they were standing before the door to the temple, the last obstacle before them: the Guardian. He was impressive looking, dressed in full armor and wielding a mallet the size of a man. Yet his voice was calm and his demeanor peaceful - he offered them no violence once they had stepped past the threshold, which was markedly different than the cultists who had thrown themselves in waves upon the intruders.

Elissa, followed by just three companions, paused before the sentinel as she waited for whatever test might be imparted upon her next. Leliana waited at her right, Sten slightly behind her, and Alistair to her left. The red head glanced at the blond, both on edge from the adrenaline of battle and the anticipation of what might come next, the quanri waiting calmly as though there was nothing left in this world that would raise his the labor of his heart above a steady beat.

"I've come for the ashes."

"As have many pilgrims before you, and many yet to come," the Guardian replied, unmoved. He stopped there, as though waiting for more. Elissa kept her focus forward, hardly aware of the others standing behind her - the battles had released tension long settled in her, but had also woken a wariness that bade her to be careful in these halls most of all.

"I need them to cure a good man, one who has fallen sick at the hands of his enemies."

"You shall have the ashes - if you are proven worthy. It is not my task to test you - that is the Gauntlet's. There are three, and each will test your faith. Should you be found wanting, you shall not find the ashes. Only true followers of Andraste will be blessed." Nodding her understanding, Elissa made a motion as though to move on, thinking that the Guardian's job was finished. Instead, she found him raising a hand to impede her. Clenching fists, she paused and drew in a deep, calming breath.

"I wish to ask of you, each of you, one question. All I require is an answer." Eyes that had looked into eternity fell upon the first, the leader. She stood before him, feeling prepared to answer whatever he would ask of her; part of her hoped for another battle, another thing to throw herself into and away from all else that crowded her mind.

"Elissa Cousland, last of the Couslands. The night Arl Rendon Howe attacked your homestead, you ran, instead of fighting the armed guard that killed everyone else in the castle." She opened her mouth to protest, knowing that it wasn't true, it just wasn't true! But the Guardian continued on before she could speak a word. "Do you not feel guilty that you left your parents to die at the hands of Howe, knowing that he would show no mercy?"

Her mouth opened to throw a defiant yell at him, to ask him how he _dared_ to presume such an atrocity, that she would have fought to her last breath had her parents _allowed_ her...but she knew that there had been a choice. Part of her hadn't wanted to die that night, and, though she would've had Duncan not been there to rescue her, she was glad that she hadn't. That silent thanks to the Maker had festered in her heart and grew into a wound of self-loathing for letting her parents meet such a terrible end. Her face became passive, the others waiting for her to speak.

"Yes."

The word was so small, so quiet, that it barely came into being. The Guardian nodded his thanks for her answer and moved on to question the others, but Elissa wasn't listening. A silence rang loud and long in her ears, deafening to anything outside of it. Giving voice to the hurt somehow put a balm on it, lanced the wound and let the rancid fluid flow free so that she might begin to heal. It hurt, oh, how it hurt, but somehow, it felt good. It felt right.

* * *

Each dwelled in their own thoughts as they hurried down the tunnel, knowing that time was of the essence. The questions had been short and to the point, but pressed on significant issues for each party member. Alistair had confirmed his belief that he should've protected Duncan on the battlefield, even if that meant giving up his own life; Leliana denied that she had created the claim that she had received a vision from the Maker solely for the attention it would bring her; and Sten was unperturbed by his question, stating factually that he had never claimed to not have failed in his mission given to him by the Arishok. Giving each thanks for their responses, the Guardian had finally stepped aside to let them pass.

They moved through immense halls of granite; passageways that stretched for what seemed like days. It was impossible to imagine how such a huge structure had been built - perhaps it was encased in the entirety of one of the Frostback Mountains. They could only surmise that the dwarven people had had a hand in building such a vast achievement, for no other race could even fathom such a deed. Carvings were still minimal, but a somber statue of the prophet herself lined the walkways every hundred yards.

Each was in similar fashion, of her praying to the Maker, and in her cupped hands was placed a torch - a symbol of burning faith, purity, and perhaps even an ironic touch in regards to her death. Elissa dwelt on none of this, her mind's sole purpose to reach the ashes in time to save Arl Guerrin. For all she knew, they were too late and this errand was to be for naught.

They came to a doorway, which she gave no pause to. Continuing on, she gave them a mighty shove, again causing her party members to glance at one another. When would she stop driving herself so hard? Or, if that didn't happen, when would she collapse? None gave voice to the worries in their minds, though perhaps Alistair and Leliana might brook a conversation over the camp's flame. Never in Elissa's hearing, though, as far as they could manage.

The two were their leader's closest confidantes, but even when they put their heads together they could not put reason to a majority of Elissa's actions. Now they stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that the brunette leading them, rather, charging down the halls, had stopped dead in the middle of the floor. Her hands clenched as they did when something she could not control overtook her, and she was posed in mid-step.

Glancing up, Leliana looked forward, one hand resting lightly on a dagger hilt. Sten eyed the surrounding area, hand poised to draw the length of his great sword; Alistair already had his sword drawn. Nothing posed a danger, at least not immediately; there was no clinking of metal weapons, shields, armor, nor cackling cries of undead or shrieks of spirits. Leliana glanced at Elissa, but her leader's eyes were solely for something right before her.

There was nothing - not a statue, no carvings on the wall that divided the space into two halls. Alistair moved forward to touch her shoulder, shake the reason back into her, but Leliana put her own arm before him. Shaking her head, she and Alistair paused to watch the scene unfold in front of them. Of everyone in the group, she would be the one to acknowledge a spiritual event if there was one to be had, would she not?

Bryce Cousland turned about, hands tucked behind his back in a genteel manner, and greeted his daughter with an affectionate half-smile, the kind he always used when he was either particularly proud of her, or wondering what she had gotten herself into to have created such a mess.

Oftentimes it was both, especially when she was younger - getting into the larder with Breslin, who had then been little more than a pup, in order to sample Cook's sweets in the middle of the night; fights and wrestling matches with her brother, which brought nothing but exasperated sighs from her mother as to why she could not act more like a lady; and the time when she had fitted one of her brand new dresses on Breslin, which nearly sent her mother into hysterics despite the fact that everyone else found it hilarious. But there was also a touch of sadness in his eyes, as though he were sorry he could not have prevented this fate.

"Hello, pup."

"Father?" The word spoken aloud could be heard by her party members, but they could neither see nor hear Bryce.

"My darling girl. Do not blame yourself for what happened to your mother and I."

"_I _could have stopped them. _I_ could've stayed - Mother could've carried you into the passage, I could have held them off..."

"No, pup. No; it was enough to have you escape. You and Fergus, living on. Your mother and I had our time. Now it's yours." He stepped forward and placed an ethereal hand on her shoulder; she could see clear through him to the wall opposite, through the tears welling in her eyes, but nothing else was real except for this spirit standing in front of her. Lifting her own hand, she struggled to touch his cheek, but there was nothing tangible for her to grasp.

"You must live on, pup. Others need you now," he said, inclining his head towards those standing behind her. Elissa nodded, knowing that it was so but until hence unwilling to admit it. There was so much to do, so much to accomplish before she could see her task complete. It was only just begun. Her mouth shuddered for a moment, struggling to speak. Finally she found her tongue.

"But I needed... I need you still." The tears fell, treading paths that were well known and yet undiscovered. Bryce smiled again, this time a full smile, the kind a parent gives a child when they know something is untrue.

"They need you - and you need them. But you must remember to let go when it is time." Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to ask his meaning, but he was already stepping back, starting to fade. Her hand extended with his backpedaling, an attempt to keep him on the present plane. She started to speak, to tell him to wait, just a moment longer, just a...and then he was gone. Her hand was grasping air, outstretched and alone.

Pausing for a moment, she stood in that pose, then suddenly spun around to look her companions in the eye. They were all waiting, wary, unsure of what had occurred. None of them seemed to understand that she had had a vision, perhaps granted to her by Andraste herself. Quickly using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears, the leather rough on her skin, she turned back about and began to briskly walk away. Walked away, and knew they would follow without question.


	8. Girl Talk

_Thunk. Thunk-thunk._

"Watch your footing."

_Thunk-thunk. Thunk._

"Elissa? Your footing!"

Elissa finally turned to see who had been nagging at her, only to find Leliana seated on a fallen log. The redheaded bard had been watching Elissa at her bard training; after all, Elissa had asked the woman, who was quickly becoming a close friend, to show her the skills she boasted. The former Noble was already taken to instruments and singing: weaponry, on the other hand, was proving to be just a tad out of reach.

"Your footing. You're letting your back foot slip. It's throwing off the daggers." Leliana gestured to the ground, and Elissa saw that her left foot was indeed at a slant compared to the right foot.

"While we're on the topic, your arm isn't stiff enough, and you're throwing from your elbow rather than your wrist. You were doing so well, too - and all of a sudden you're back at basic training."

She stood, offering Elissa a skin of water. The brunette took it gratefully, sliding the remaining blades into her leather belt. The water was cool, and her throat was parched after several hours of nonstop training. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took in a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. She had been taking to the training well, in the beginning; then Leliana had started throwing some twists in and then there were the dreams and the constant worries that surrounded the entire reason they were traveling, and suddenly it was all becoming very overwhelming. So much so that it was starting to show physically. The group had paused on the road to Orzammar - they had just come from the Brecilian Forest and enlisted the help of the Dalish. Now the dwarves were to be called upon, and then...then they would get to the heart of the matter that was eating away at Ferelden.

"I'm sorry, my mind...my mind has been wandering of late."

"I should wonder if it weren't." Elissa blinked, and gave a curious look to her friend. Of course the events before them were turbulent, but that had never stopped Elissa from being on point before. Whatever could she be getting at?

"Really? Do you really think I'm that blind?" Leliana laughed a little, not at her commander but at the naivety she was expressing. It had been so long since she had seen such thoughts, and it was always refreshing. The redhead prayed often to the Maker to never become bitter with life, and felt eternally blessed to find the oddest things in the most random of places - a Grey Warden commander (at least of this party) being completely oblivious to the fact that she was being wooed. "Come, sit with me." She went back to the log, taking Elissa's hand and leading her to sit. Elissa, a little stunned, was hard pressed to not simply follow and do as commanded.

"Now. You. Alistair. Come now, surely it's not that surprising."

"Leliana, there's...it's nothing. What are you talking about? Is this about the flower?"

"Not just a flower, Elissa, but a rose, and the looks, the time you two steal away together in one side of the camp, the fact that he always makes a point of walking next to you when we travel, the slight touches...Elissa, my dear, I could go on and on and on." She clapped her hands in delight, laughing again. "Oh, how wonderful, really. Completely adept in politics, having a hand in sword fighting, and yet utterly a novice in the field of romance. How can this be?"

Elissa found herself blushing, slightly, and set the skin on the ground in order to free her hands. One nitpicked at her leather skirt while the other gently touched the location of the ring on the necklace just underneath the leather breastplate. "I...I was aware...but...but..."

"Oh, please don't be upset at my teasing. That's all it is, I swear, just teasing. He's handsome, and charming, and I'm sure he'll take orders well enough..." She winked, a cat's grin on her face as she leaned into her companion for closer girl talk.

Elissa's eyes only widened, then rolled as she realized what Leliana was getting at. "Oh, believe me, it'll be some time before...before that becomes an issue. There's too much going on, and...and..."

"Oh. Oh my, this is quite a riddle. Oh, my dear." Leliana took one of Elissa's hands in her own, lacing the fingers together in a familiar gesture. Her thumb caressed the back of Elissa's hand. Her thigh pressed against Elissa's, and the brunette leaned back against the bard for support. "Surely he is not the first? Not in _that_ regard...but not the first you've held affection for? And don't start with me, it's as plain as day. That's out, the cat is out, see, there it goes, so now let's talk. Girl to girl." She smiled, and Elissa relaxed mentally.

"No. No, he's not the first. But the one before him...I shouldn't even have a problem, it's been...Maker's breath, it's been _years_." Her eyes unfocused as memories rose unbidden to her mind's eye, and she looked down to the ground as though Leliana might see them should she even glance at the redhead. She blinked, and they were gone. "And it was of his own doing - he left, and there was a letter, and that...that was it. I...I think his father might...I shouldn't. Our family had been friends for so long, it seemed only natural." She let go of Leliana's hand and reached up to the necklace protected by her leather armor. Letting it dangle freely in the cool evening air made her breathe easier, just knowing that it was there and safe.

"Beautiful," Leliana murmured, reaching to pull the ring a bit closer for examination. "Is this...?"

"I couldn't tell you. He left before that. This is all I have left. I don't even know why I hang on to it, but I feel...naked...without it." Leliana dropped the ring, the silver flashing once before it completed its fall. Her hand reached to trace Elissa's jaw line, while her face showed only concern. Suddenly Elissa realized her face was very close, and stone gray eyes peered into emerald green.

"Love is love. There is no explanation, no excuse for it. But that doesn't mean that you should forsake one for the preservation of another. The present is more important than the past." She finished, her hand paused on the cusp of Elissa's face. Elissa could feel goose bumps, and it wasn't from the chill air - she glanced down, then back up, and Leliana was pulling away. Had it been her imagination, or...? Then she shook her head and batted the thoughts away. Things were already complicated enough.

"Love doesn't come before duty. And I'm not even sure it's love - I don't want to be unfair to him, Leliana. I don't want to break his heart." The bard looked back at her and smiled sadly.

"For that, I think it may be too late. Are you going to tell him?" Elissa's face registered confusion, and Leliana clarified. "Are you going to tell Alistair about...?"

"Why? There's no reason. This one," she touched the ring, "is long gone. If he were going to return, don't you think he would have by now?"


	9. One Night To Remember

For one night they had taken shelter in an inn, a few leagues from Denerim - with what little coin they had to spend, they had chosen carefully and spent only enough to be considered good customers and not bribes. Their appearance gave enough warning to anyone who might try to steal from them in the middle of the night; that didn't mean they wanted to come off as mercenaries or worse. All the allies had been gathered, as many as they could muster, and now they were headed towards the capital with a mind of deposing the regent and showing all what he really was: nothing more than a tyrant, and one who would drive this country into ruin at the hands of an age old enemy. But for now, after a long day of travel, they took their rest.

Two to a room had been the decision, with Breslin sleeping the night with horses and other animals in the stables adjoined to the tavern side of the inn. Zevran and Sten were to share, much to Sten's chagrin as the chatty elf followed him into their assigned room, grinning ear to ear from the qunari's discomfort; next door would be Leliana and Wynne. The two exchanged no words, instead exhausted enough to simply go straight to bed.

Which left the last room for the commander and Alistair. Elissa had taken some time in the tavern itself, speaking with the barkeep to find out the latest news in the realm. Alistair had reached the room first, and was already stripped of his armor, dressed solely in loose cotton pants and shirt; she found him making sleeping arrangements for the two of them. The room wasn't small - a decent size, it boasted a twin bed, night stand, and a chest of drawers. A single candle offering light showed the late hour and the stinginess of the owner.

"Here, I'll take the floor - but that means I get all the pillows," he muttered under his breath, making a show of stealing them from the bed. He glanced at her to watch her reaction, and when he found not even a cursory eye-roll, he dropped one back onto the slim blanket covering a worn, straw-stuffed mattress as she walked further into the room. Certainly not what Elissa was used to, faintly recalling a goose-down bed back in Highever, but it was far better than rocky ground and a mere blanket. For a moment she simply pressed her hand into the yielding surface, then turned and sat to begin the long process of removing her armor. Alistair, frozen at the idea of what he had gotten himself into, turned to the wall.

"You know I...I just wanted to thank you." Elissa frowned, not stopping in her motions and giving a grunt in reply. The two remained back to back, and Alistair crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped them again. One boot fell to the floor with a small thud, bits of dirt and other unmentionables flaking off in small pieces to make a mess on the floor. She turned her attentions to the other foot.

"I appreciate...what you did. For Eamon, and Isolde. And Connor." When no reply was forthcoming, and a second boot hit the floor, he continued on. She wondered why it had taken him so long - but then again, they had been busy fighting for their lives, saving others, and she had held him at a distance. Especially after the conversation with Leliana, which had awakened old memories and made her feel guilty for the wrong reasons.

She had worked hard to suppress those memories, the ones of a man she had known since childhood, a man who had become a dear friend and then something even closer. His disappearance had created a rift in her heart, one that had grown with the passing of her family. Now she was starting to acknowledge the pain, but she feared that a closer relationship with Alistair would be tainted by her healing process. She heard his voice again, and was drawn away from her thoughts.

"You didn't have to do that, and I just wanted to say...thank you." It was a lame excuse for a conversation, and he had hoped to say it to her rather than facing a wall, but he was very much a man of honor; well, perhaps a man of bashfulness and unease, but never let it be said that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Silence bathed the room, and he glanced back before turning around to find Elissa already looking at him. She had one hand pressed on the bed, leaning on it to turn around and look over her shoulder; it was a coy and teasing position, but not in a manner that suggested she was using it to that effect. She was simply too tired to turn completely around.

"I didn't do it for you," she said, carefully. "I did it because it was right." No offense given or taken; she was accepting his thanks, but calling them unnecessary. It was her duty to do these things, as it was his, and the fact that the people they helped happened to be the closest thing he had ever had to a family was irrelevant. But it didn't stop him from needing to make his feelings known.

"I know." He moved closer to the bed; suddenly the room felt very small, very, very small. It was large enough for perhaps one more person before it became cramped; but Elissa suddenly became very aware that the bed was the only thing separating them. "And I also wanted to say...that I've been thinking about what you said. In Denerim."

"I've been meaning to apologize-"

"No, you were right." He moved around to the foot of the bed, stopping just as he came within reach of her. Other than turning her head so she was facing him fully, she didn't move a muscle, unsure if she liked where this was going. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst - and yet the feeling of unease was something she could not quell.

"I need to be stronger. Stand up for myself, just as I do for others. And I wanted to thank you for that, as well." His eyes looked down on her, his desire more than apparent. Before any decisions could be made, she stood and put more space between the two of them; putting her hands in the air to ward off the oncoming events. She met his eyes with her own, trying to remain steady.

"Alistair, think about this. You're going to be king, and I..."

"Anora can be ruler - she's doing a decent job of it, isn't she? Why must I ride in and steal that away from her?"

"And Eamon? His suggesting of putting you up as contender for the throne? How were you going to get away from all of that?" His gaze turned hard, something she had never seen in him before. He rolled his shoulders as though to relieve tension, but it was still there in the curve of his jaw, the glint in his eyes. Anger radiated from him, in that others would make these decisions about him and he was just expected to follow - no, that had been when he was a child, and that would not do any longer. Her palms began to sweat, and a ringing began in her ears. Softly, of course, but building.

"Eamon does not speak for me. _I _can speak for myself. Isn't that what you meant, in Denerim, outside of my sister's house? I don't want to be king, and I won't."

"Do you think she'll let you live?" He was taken aback at this thought. Why in the Maker's name would Anora kill him? "Don't you see the danger that lies in leaving a _blood-relative_ of Calenhad the Great alive? Alistair..." Though confused in her overall feelings, she knew that she didn't want to see his golden head decorating a pike atop the palace gates. Despite the distance she had forced between them, the goofy blond had become dear to her as a friend, with the potential for something more.

All simply because he was related through what he would consider ill-luck to the royal family of Ferelden. She knew enough of politics that Anora would never let him simply gallivant off on his own, to perhaps beget more heirs who might one day return to usurp the throne from her and her family. Elissa knew she would do whatever it took to keep him safe, even if that meant saving him from himself.

The thought of him being hanged, his body drifting in the wind, brought tears to her eyes and her vision blurred. Before she knew it, he had closed the space between them and pulled her into an embrace. She pressed her face into the cotton shirt that had separated flesh from steel, giving some reprieve to his skin from chainmail and armor. Sweat-stained, it reeked of him, of him and of death, of violence. She tried to put those thoughts from her mind, but they were ever present. The contact was comforting as she suppressed the tears that threatened.

"Shh...nothing's going to happen to me. Nothing, I swear it by Andraste's holy words." A pause. His arms tightened around her comfortingly, bringing them closer.

"Well, nothing that you wouldn't warrant," he added, trying to break the tension. She snorted softly at the thought, bringing a smirk to his own face in triumph.

"So...have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?" Alluding to an earlier conversation, his serious tone caused her eyes to roll at the idiotic wording she had used to tease him about his upbringing in the Chantry. A laugh escaped from her as she sniffled against his shirt. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin cotton in the fingertips left exposed by her leather gloves, against her face. She was still dressed in combat gear, leather armor splattered with blood and other unmentionables. Lifting her head, she noted how close they were to one another - her eyes started from his chin, moving upwards, taking in the whole of his face until they met his own. There was that look, again, but this time she wasn't afraid of it.

Her mouth opened to reply, and suddenly she found him kissing her. It was gentle, but insistent; moving in on a moment, the _perfect_ moment, in subtle invitation without force. Caught up, she found herself replying, carefully, slowly, with everything that had been hiding within her mind, everything she had been unsure of giving voice to. After all, she was going to lose him one way or another, wasn't she? To death, or to the crown, and she had no idea which was worse. But for now, now while they were running, while they were fighting for their lives, she had him all to herself. After a moment, he pulled back, loosening his hold on her.

"Was that too soon?" His voice was low and raspy, and a smile born of pride of what she could do to this man stirred her lips. Meeting his eyes with her own, she shook her head.

"No...no, that was...that was fine." He laughed loudly, making her grin.

"I wanted to wait for the perfect time. But there's never going to be one, is there? If we lived in a perfect world, we never would have met." He moved one hand down to the small of her back, a subtle question towards dubious motives pulling her into him. With other boys, she had slapped them for such intentions; had pushed them away and ran into the halls. Now there was nowhere to run to, and for once, she found that she didn't even consider the thought. All that occupied her mind was this man, the bed behind him, and the armor that provided the sole obstacle.

"You know...I haven't..." She started for a moment, then stopped to bite her lip in embarrassment.

"Never what? Licked a lamppost? I thought there were lots of those in Denerim, I almost dared you-" She pressed her lips to his for a moment of blessed silence and the taste of him in her mouth. One hand had crept up to brush the warmth of his cheek, lightly dusted with stubble. He laughed into the kiss, his teasing only inflaming her further. How was it possible for one man to make her feel such a gamut of emotions, all at once? When they broke the kiss, she glowered at him.

"Coyness doesn't become you, Elissa," he continued, taking a step back and pulling her with him. Through his confident words she could feel a slight tremor in his body and knew that he was as nervous as she. They stumbled back another pace, feet nearly stepping on one another as they neared the bed.

"Neither does bravado you, Alistair," she shot back, using the same tactics to hide her own anxiety, moving with him hesitantly. She felt safe in his arms. Another step and suddenly they were falling, landing on the bed with her atop him. Stunned for a moment, suddenly they were laughing. Elissa pressed a hand to her mouth to quell the noise, glancing back at the door. Her attention was pulled away from it as his hands grasped her arms and pulled her into him, showing her that he only had attention for what was directly before him.

A quick kiss, and then she was pulling off her gloves so she could feel her hands on his face, neck. His own hands pressed against the cuirass, searching for skin. She began to pull at one of the buttons, both her left hand and position awkward. Alistair reached up for the right side, and the buttons popped away. She allowed him to help her pull it off, the material sticking close enough to be a second skin.

Slowly her body was visible in the shallow candle light, which played over her slim curves. The only thing still dressing her from the waist up was the cloth tied around her breasts and that necklace with the silver ring, but he never noticed it, having eyes only for her. She left it on, it and its reminder lost for the time being. The leather skirt was next, though even more awkward as she had to roll away from him to be able to slide it off.

Never stopping for a moment to think, no, she couldn't allow that because it would ruin it, ruin the moment, she turned to Alistair and put one hand on his shoulder; he turned, and then he was above her, and they were moving on the bed to lay on it lengthwise, all the while spurts of giggles or laughter appearing at their ridiculous actions.

He pulled his shirt away, the feeling of skin on skin was exotic and suddenly moved things to a new level - the laughter faded as their mouths met again, hands playing over scars that they each knew the stories for. After a moment she felt him fumbling at her upper garment, pulling it away; she helped him, the feeling of skin on skin exciting. Her final undergarment was next, and then both of their sets of hands were fumbling at his pants, enthusiasm and anxiety making the task that much more difficult.

It wasn't the cold that caused the sudden shaking - her anxiety had never been so great. When was the last time that she had approached something she had no experience in? Again she was thankful for him, for his kindness, for his inexperience. Suddenly she realized that, for the first time in her life, she was naked before a man; despite the fact that it was Alistair, she had never exposed herself so before another of the opposite gender, period. She had never felt so self-conscious in her life, and she wasn't sure it was a feeling she enjoyed.

But she was too far gone herself, and before she could make any further realizations, she turned to the side, her shoulder making contact with his chest, and leaned over to blow out the candle - and with the banishment of the light went her thoughts, doubts, and insecurities.

* * *

She woke the next morning in his arms - like a dream, it was. But something pulled her from the bed; a trepidation, a warning at what she had done and a fear of its repercussions. She left its warmth and the curve of his body to re-shield herself in her leathers, wrapping them up tightly and again feeling secure.

She took a moment to look at him - reddish-gold hair, sleeping soundly on a straw-stuffed mattress like the farm boy he so was. He didn't look at all the king she knew he would be, the great king he would make. She would lose him, she knew, but whether to death or to the crown she had no idea. This night, though - this night she would have forever.

She left him to wake on his own, in an empty bed, wondering where and why she had gone.


	10. Unvoiced Longings

There was a bird in Elissa's chest, beating at the ribs. Escape, however, was no longer an option; the starling, her heart, would need to be calmed.

An entrance? Into Howe's estate in Denerim? The Maker surely smiled upon her, surely saw the injustice done to her and given voice to her darkest desire. Yes, it was all well and good that they were truly going there to save Anora, the rightful queen, but in the back of her mind her purpose would align with the last wish of her mother.

_Take the Cousland sword, and drive it through that bastard's heart. _

Elissa had never known her mother to speak so; but her mother had been almost as much of a warrior as her father. She knew that both had fought in the wars against the Orlesians; she herself had been born in a time of peace fought for by people like her parents, like Howe (_how _could_ he? we were friends, of him _and_ his family_), like the legendary Loghain and Maric and Rowan. Normal people, noble in action and not in blood, though that came later and made itself perfectly apparent. When there was fighting to be done, everyone was in the same rank - do, or die. In peace...peace caused irrationality in everyone, and that was how her family had been undone.

The sword hilt in her hand was rough, almost unpleasant to the touch, and yet her palm itched to pull it out of its sheath and heft its weight. Feel the clean stroke through the air and wonder how she might do it. Parting his head from his body? Perhaps that was too kind. A stab to the gut, let him bleed out in agony like her father. Cut him at the knees so he might crawl like her father had to, in his last moments.

No, it was all too kind. Too kind. Frustration ran through her veins, for a moment finding a new reason to grieve at King Cailan's death - that there would be no proper justice brought to Howe, that he would not be hanged and quartered and drawn as traitors were meant to be. Staged before all of Ferelden so they might know what injustice had been done to a family of their own.


	11. One Day To Forget

Howe's dungeons were even more disturbing that one could imagine. For one, a passage from his very bedroom led straight down into the heart of it, closest to the torture chamber - there were bodies everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, piled in corners, some...some too difficult to describe in what had been done to them or even who they had been.

Every turn brought her new horrors when she needed none; her anger could not burn any brighter, and she no longer even knew which companions were following her. Who had she brought with her?

Of course - Alistair, the man she had given herself to. The one person who held her heart, and yet she tugged it back from him with anxiety-ridden fingers. Her heart had been given away before she had met him. Given to revenge, grief, and anger. She wasn't sure if it would ever be set free from such a cause. And to another, who had left behind only a ring on a necklace.

Leliana, the friend who knew her. Knew her heart, her soul and yet never for a moment questioned her.

Finally Wynne, who had become a constant companion on Elissa's travels. All three had filled in the gaps left by...but there was no reason to linger on it now.

They found living people. Those were the hardest - broken in body, broken in mind, they freed as many as they could and gave a quick, merciful death to the rest. Nothing would ever shock her again in her life. There could be nothing worse than what they were witnessing, down in this dark hole. These men, these _soldiers_, who followed Howe fell in her wake like toys. How she could even fathom these men working for him confounded her, and she felt no remorse at their deaths. Her hands were already soaked with blood, both of those she had slain and other deaths she considered her own failing - what difference made ten, twenty more?

Finally. Finally they came upon a last, single room. She held her breath for a moment, like on Winsol - hold your breath, savor the moment. If you hold your breath, perhaps it will stay this way forever and ever. But she didn't want a pause, didn't want to linger any longer than she already had. Everything up until now had been foreplay, readying her for this moment; and yet it had all been a waste when this was ever lurking in the back of her mind, throwing a shadow over all else. And then she was kicking in the door, her longsword in one hand and her poisoned dagger fit to throw.

"I was wondering why you would arrive, my dear." Armed to the teeth, with three mages and a small bevy of armed guards, Arl Rendon Howe smiled. It was obvious that he had been anticipating such an event for some time. She paused in the doorway, her own retinue falling behind her in similar fashion to Howe's. Her weapons paused at her sides and she stared at the arl head on, unflinching this time. Now she would act - now she would not be caught in the past.

"All things in due time, Howe. I owe you a great balance, and I intend to repay you in full."

"Is this still about your family?" Knuckles grown white, she stepped forward towards the arl, eyes never leaving his face. He allowed it, though his guards looked to leap into action; Howe waved them back with a shake of his head. His own hands were crossed rather lazily across his chest, everything about him a show of arrogance. "Or is there something more? And don't give me one of those charmingly puzzled looks - you know what I'm speaking of."

"You're going to beg at my feet by the time I'm through with you." The words rang cold and deadpan. She had never heard herself speak so before - but then there had never been a time quite like this. Rather than turn pale and rush forward his sentries, Arl Rendon threw back his head and laughed. Laughed in her face, nearly holding his sides.

"Isn't that precious?" He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Is this where I lament the monster I helped create? Let me show you how it's done: I made your mother kiss my feet before she died; it was the last thing your father saw." He pulled out a wicked-looking sword, obviously made of silverite and curved to shred organs once lodged within an opponent. His other hand grasped a dagger, which she had no doubt would be tipped with the most dangerous poison gold could buy. Her own was laced with a poison of her own concoction, created while laboring under Zevran's tutorage.

But all of this fell away as she screamed at his last words, the images burned in her mind; rushing forward, her blade pointed towards his heart. Chaos broke out in the tiny room - Alistair rushed towards the guards, stopping and engaging two before the rest spilled around him; Leliana did what she could, moving with grace as she used daggers in the small space that her bow was completely unequipped for. One man fell at her feet, but as soon as he did another took up his place in attacking her. Never a moments' reprieve.

Wynne had her own hands full dealing with both mages - however, they were mere novices compared to her, and soon she had one trapped in a swirling cloud of locusts intent on eating all the skin from his body while the other ran up against the wall in an attempt to evade bolts of lightning. She then focused her attention on the guards, finding them a bit more tricky as they had spell-enhanced armor; a wonder why the mages hadn't thought to do the same.

In the center, Elissa and Howe exchanged blow for blow. His elbow caught her eye; her hilt broke his nose; metal met metal in shrieks as each attempted to gain ground over the other. Howe gritted his teeth as their blades locked, each shoving against each other as hard as they could - Howe had height, but Elissa knew how to use momentum. How often had she sparred with a qunari who stood well over three feet taller than her?

She shifted to the side; he fell forward and sprawled on the ground. He quickly rolled to the side, but not before she planted her dagger in his shoulder, clean through the fancy leather armor that was doing little to protect him. Though it was a shallow wound, it was enough to let the poison leech into his system and start breaking him down moment by moment.

After that, it was a waiting game - his moves became sluggish, and she found herself biding her time. She met each attack with a strong defense, but no longer did she land any blows; the poison was designed to cut away at eye sight first, then hearing. Slowly it would suffocate the victim until the point of death. It was obvious as to its success - Howe began to swipe randomly, his cries of frustration and hate replacing anything that would actually cause her anymore hurt. Now she was standing stock still, watching him attack around him at imaginary enemies.

Fear and anger were the only things driving him - fear of his own death, and anger that another _Cousland_ should be the one to cause his downfall. He stumbled; the sword clattered to the ground, but he could not hear where it fell. Wavering, he dropped his dagger and fell backwards, landing hard on the stone floor.

He was bleeding from the few wounds Elissa had given him - but the most grievous would be one that no one could see. Slowly, an air of self-satisfaction began to rise within her, watching this man struggle in his death throes. She sheathed her long sword, and finally knelt down next to him; pressed one hand to his chest and encouraged him to lay down, to accept the inevitable.

The last of Howe's guard had fallen, and Alistair turned to watch Elissa apply her ministrations to this man whom she so hated. Wynne and Leliana likewise fell silent, all waiting.

"It's over, Howe. You'll never hurt anyone, ever again." He couldn't hear her words; that much she knew, but somehow she felt that in her touch, the message was clear. His body shuddered, speaking its own words: _over, no, it can't be over, I can't have lost, it was mine, mine, MINE..._He turned in her direction and for a moment she actually wondered if he would actually... But then he spat in her face, the phlegm hitting her square in the eye he had bruised during the fight.

"You were never good enough for him...he deserved more..._I_ deserved more..." And his hand moved, the poisoned dagger suddenly found. The tip sank through the armor on her hip, barely even breaking the skin; yet immediately she felt a burning sensation, starting at the cut and beginning to move throughout her body. It was a foreign sensation that was all too familiar - she had felt it first when she was merely fifteen in a paper cut earned from a letter that broke her heart, again when she found Oren's dead body. She sat, one hand still on his chest, the spittle running slowly down her face.

No. Not, it couldn't end like this. Not like this. How _dare_ he pull these things from the past, pull out memories that had been long dead - old wounds torn fresh by her family's sudden death. Suddenly her hands were moving of their own accord, grasping his head; he cried out unintelligibly, but she was beyond any understanding. At first slowly, gaining speed as she found the strength, she smashed his head into the cold stone floor underneath his dying body.

Her companions startled, and Alistair rushed forward. He was only stopped by Leliana, who stared into his face and blocked him bodily.

"She needs this, Alistair - you and the Maker have no idea how badly she needs this," she pleaded with him (for how long had it taken her to put two and two together and realize the truth of the matter, that this stemmed from more than just the death of Elissa's family - long, long before that), and Alistair calmed. Placated for the moment, he was...amazed and disgusted at what both Leliana and Elissa deemed necessary. Then, Elissa wasn't in her right mind, there was no way...

Howe's screams fell on her deaf ears - Elissa herself grunted with each smash, proper words lost to her, only her eyes fixed on his gruesome face giving any acknowledgment that she knew perfectly well what she was doing. Again and again and again, a wet noise over and over and over, blood and bone and brain staining the floor, staining her hands, staining her knees and flying out all over. Then there was silence, again, but still she didn't stop, even though she couldn't feel her hands, wasn't even sure if she was grasping anything anymore - she couldn't be sure, would never be sure, not until it was gone, all gone, that horrible mind of his, filled with nothing but avarice and hate and want and lust and...

"Elissa! Elissa..." Hands were pulling her back, strong hands pulling her away from what she must do. She fought them for a moment, struggling to get away before she realized that she had been stabbed. Realizing that Howe's own dagger had found placement in her hip, feeling the bruises on her knuckles from where she had started smashing them into the floor when there was nothing left of Howe's head, she suddenly understood that Alistair had dragged her away from the dead corpse.

She leaned back against him as he leaned against a wall, holding her for her own safety as her body began to spasm. Wynne applied healing magic to her hands, doing her best to seal up the cuts that showed bone. Her body bucked against Alistair's as he did his best to hold her still; they pulled off her leathers as quickly as they could and Leliana sucked at the cut, spitting something black on to the floor. Elissa's form began to calm, her face stoic and laid to the side on Alistair's chest. After several minutes, Leliana deemed the majority of the poison removed.

The bard had begun to go through her pack as quickly as she could, throwing bottles she deemed useless against the floor and shattering them. One by one they were applied to Elissa's cut, to her mouth, forcing her to drink, if that one didn't work there was another and another and another...Two hours later finally found a suitable concoction that seemed to calm the pain; another hour and Elissa attempted standing.

After a moment of uneasiness, with a little steadying from Alistair, she found her balance and her feet. In a dark and quiet mood, they collected their weapons and left the room through the entrance; Elissa did not so much as glance at the dead, desecrated form on the floor that had once been both her father's best friend and murderer. They had a queen to find, a regicide to execute, and a kingdom to save - what was one more death in the larger scheme?


	12. Decision's Price, part 2

She pulled back the sword tip, tilting the blade into the air and resting it lightly against her shoulder. "You have a point, Riordan."

"What?" Alistair stared at Elissa as though her head had turned into that of a mule. "I...I can't..." He turned to stare at Riordan.

"He tortured you - how can you overlook that? Elissa," he attempted upon his commander, his love, "He branded us traitors, nearly killed us! Slandered the Grey Wardens! How...how can..." Removing her eyes from Loghain as he rose from his position on the floor, she gave Alistair a long, cold look. The same one she hadn't lost since killing Howe; the one he remembered from when they had visited his sister in Denerim. The person standing in front of him was someone he had never known, had never wanted to know. Not in her, not even in himself. He looked back to Riordan, finally realizing that he would have to be the one to bring justice to Duncan's...to Cailan's murderer.

"Teryn Loghain Mac Tir, I place you under arrested for crimes against the crown, including the murder of King Cailan Theirin." A few simple words, things that could never be unsaid, and now everyone knew that he intended to take the crown. The crowd's murmurings grew louder, punctuated with a gasp or two.

"I invoke the Right of Conscription." All noise in the room silenced. Her voice was steady and clear, but to Alistair's ears, the phrase was a cruel whisper in the dark. He stood, stunned, turning quickly to look at her in...horror? How? How could she?

"I won't allow it! As king-"

"You are not king yet, Alistair," Anora supplied, rather smoothly. Applying salt to the wound. He turned to look at Loghain's daughter, the to-be de-throned queen, and wanted to cut the smug looking smirk off of her face with his blade.

"I became king the moment my brother was murdered," he replied, a steel edge to his voice that brought surprise even to her eyes.

He looked back to Elissa, who had an approving look in her own face, still the stoic expression but she _approved _of this? There was no reason to fathom, no reason to understand. His face scowled, and he turned away from her. He felt...betrayed, hurt. Even those simple words were not enough to describe the emotions warring within him.

Maker help him, but he wanted to strike out at Elissa as she had at him - isn't that what she had done? Denied him the one thing he had been striving for? Stopped him from making peace with Duncan's death, forcing him upon the throne when he had wanted nothing of the sort? What possible good she could be seeing in this he couldn't begin to imagine. She had flouted the power of the Grey Warden's in his face; forced him into a position where he thought he would be in control, and still there was _nothing _he could do.

"So be it. Take this woman," he waved a hand at Anora, who suddenly grew very pale, "to Fort Drakon. I will deal with her after the battle; there's still a whole army of darkspawn out there and I don't intend to see my country laid to waste." Glancing at Elissa, he saw hope flicker in her eyes. Of what? He couldn't bear to look at her, at Loghain, at anything. His world was spinning and he knew that if he didn't sit down soon, he was going to pass out. Turning away from her, from his enemy, from everyone in the room (including Eamon, the one who had proposed this folly in the first place, his foster father of sorts, another Maferath) and walked away.

Elissa watched him go, pride fluttering in her chest at his words and actions. Here was the man she had imagined, the man who would be strong enough to lead the country out of this chaos and into a golden age. He would hurt, oh she knew how he would hurt - he hadn't wanted this, had denied it with all of his heart and soul. Refused to acknowledge the path fate had laid out for him. But this was her purpose, among many - restoring the throne, righting the country, all at the cost of everything she had ever loved and wanted.

And as she watched him walk away, she wanted to pretend that she felt nothing.

* * *

Later she found him in a guest room, far from the throne room and everyone else in the castle. The door was locked and she had banged on it until he had let her in, unlocking the door and moving away from it before she had even entered. Closing it quietly behind her, she pressed her back against the door and snapped the lock into place. He was facing the stone wall at the rear of the room, next to the bed in the corner. How familiar this scene was.

"Alistair, I-" She stopped because suddenly the words wouldn't come. She knew what she had done - knew that there was no forgiveness for it. But she had done what she had to do, and damn this feeling of guilt! Apologies were useless. There was nothing left to be said. And yet she said it anyway, knowing already that it was over.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What? Just _had_ to pardon Loghain, after everything he's done? After all the people he's killed?" She watched him shudder as he tried to control himself. He turned from the wall and sat on the bed, looking out of place: battle-scarred steel armor in all the luxury surrounding them. Her own leathers were broken in, hard, flexible to movement and worn thin. They would need replacements before the battle, if they were to survive.

He stared at the floor but she could not look away from him - deep within her, she was begging him to just look at her, but another part of her dreaded what she might find lurking behind his eyes. The hurt, the accusations. They floated in silence for a time.

"Why?" Rather than sounding of a petulant child as he had in the past, his voice was rough and dangerous. Slowly she found herself walking towards him, ever drawn as a moth is to the flame; then stopped mid-way through the room, suddenly unsure of herself. She was treading on ground ready to give way beneath her feet for but one wrong move.

It shocked her to hear him speak thusly; the only violence she had known in him had been protecting what he stood for and cared about. The idea that he was threatening her now was foreign. Clenching fists as a slight anger rose in her belly, she gritted her teeth as she searched for words to explain.

Explain, why should she have to explain, she was the _leader_ and no one had ever questioned her before. No one had the right to - but it was _him_.

"It's political, Alistair, if you would just think on it-"

"What reason is there to think on it? What reason could you give me for sparing the life of Duncan's murderer?" He launched himself from the bed and stalked towards her, then stopped and moved away, near pacing, and for a moment she felt fear bolt through her. Neither were armed - that was inappropriate within the palace walls - but that didn't mean that he didn't have other weapons at his disposal.

"The people love him, Alistair! If we can win the people over-"

"Stop, Elissa, just stop." He put hands to his ears, attempting to drive her words out, but she couldn't stem the gushing from her mouth.

"-then they'll disregard the lies he spread about us, about the Grey Wardens. They'll acknowledge-"

"Elissa, I don't want to hear it. Shut _up_!"

"-that we're in the right, and that will rally everyone together-" He stalked towards her again, and she stepped back to give ground, unsure of what he intended. Suddenly she felt her back against the wall, and there was nowhere to go as she saw...was it hate?...something rising in his eyes.

"-even open the gates for the Wardens in the future! Isn't that what you wanted?" He was standing before her, the kind and caring face she was so used to built in a facade of cold stone. It was an alien look for him, causing her to shiver at the sight of it. What had she done to him? She willed him to speak, opening her mouth and then closing it quickly before another word might send him into a frenzy.

"What...I...wanted? You think I wanted this?" He leaned into her, putting hands on the stone walls and blocking any available exit. "You've slandered the Wardens name worse than Loghain ever could. Accepting him into the ranks showed that we ourselves are thieves, traitors! That our good deeds are nothing but a wall we hide our sins behind! There is no excuse for his crimes, nothing will exonerate him of that!" His face was inches from her, so akin to previous nights when she had found his presence comforting. Now the fear had given way to anger - yes, she had hardened him, made him grow up from the charming little boy she had met at Ostagar, but it seemed he was unwilling to let go of his old self.

"And his followers? Would you continue on this path to civil war when you make him a martyr?" Her voice was growing in pitch.

"His crimes are clear, and his supporters will fall into line," Alistair supplied quickly.

"Did Fereldens fall into line with Queen Moira?" she continued, recalling her own lessons in her country's history. "As I remember, her own countrymen killed her; when you give men a strong enough cause, threaten to take everything away from them, they will do anything! Do you want to wake in the middle of the night with your throat slit?"

"I never wanted to be king!" He thundered in reply, and her mouth grew hard. They paused, more words pushing forward but it was obvious that they were going nowhere. She had begun to lean forward into his challenge, no longer willing to settle back against the wall. Faces mere moments from touching, the friction was palpable. She wanted to smack him, wanted to kiss him - here he was, being absolutely infuriating, but what a leader he would make!

But still she found the chinks in his armor, in his argument. She always would, for she knew him best. She leashed her anger and raised a hand to his face; the skin beneath her fingertips was rough. His breath caught as her hand made contact - and for a moment, she thought he might relent, might accept her decision and step back into rank as any other good little soldier. For a moment in time they were frozen, leaning into each other, the attraction strong.

"Everyone deserves a second chance," she started slowly, almost teasingly, changing tack; speaking of themselves, asking his forgiveness. For once, showing weakness, normally abhorred by her common sense. But she also appealing to his goodness, saying that Loghain had once been a good man and would be, again.

"What of Howe? Did he not deserve a second chance?"

Her hand jumped away from his skin as though pulling away from a snake poised to strike, her face registered disgust. The words cut deep, so deep that she thought she might actually bleed from the wound he had dealt her. Again, a flash of the strong man, but now he was twisted into cruelty.

"Howe deserved what I gave him. Deserved that death, and so much more." Her words were cold and a flicker of hate sprang up in her mind. No, she didn't want to hate him, couldn't, he was the last good thing that was still hers... "It's his fault we're here in this mess - it's his fault that Loghain has fallen so far, his fault that I-"

"Loghain is an old and bitter man; his own history shows that much. Your justification is your family? What about mine? Duncan was all I had," he continued, leaning into her as she removed herself from him both physically and mentally. She screamed internally - _what of me? Am I nothing to you?_

"Should I have let you die when the poison was coursing through your veins? Let you drift away from me then, before I knew what you would do later? Before I learned how you felt?" Each question was a blow, striking her further and further down. This was why she could not let anyone in - they would leave, or hurt, or betray. Never mind her own actions, done for the good of all. Never breaking contact, the anger became a new tie between them, overshadowing all else.

"Maybe you should have. But Duncan's death does not merit risking the survival of a whole nation for your petty revenge. Loghain is a necessity, and I will have him. He will die when I deem it so - he will fight in the battle he should have fought in at Ostagar." Her words were flat. Nothing more need be said between them - a rift so wide it was unimaginable that there was anything they could do to cross it.

"Get away from me." For a moment he didn't move, perhaps the shock of her words stunning him to paralysis. When he did nothing further, she reacted with flat palms against his chest and shoved as hard as she could. "Get away from me!"

He responded with a startled cry, and his fist rang out to hit stone right next to her head. Both stood with wide open eyes, unbelieving of what had occurred. They froze for a moment, locked in a tableau that neither one of them had seen coming.

"Your majesty? Is everything all right?" A knocking interrupted them as a manservant attempted to open the door and inquire about the shouting. Alistair stepped back, extracting himself from the scene and pulling himself together before facing anyone outside of the room. Elissa moved away from him, walked towards the door and unlocked it.

She opened it and was gone without a second glance towards the man she had loved or the servant. She had a duty - a people to protect - an ancient enemy to slay. She continuously walked away from what she wanted and towards what she must do. Such was the path of a Grey Warden.


	13. Brevity

"Should we not speak a moment?" His words interrupted her from her pacing. The pacing helped her anxiety, but it did not stop the flow of thoughts in her mind. She glanced at him, then back at the gate. There was no time to speak, not with this time at hand.

"What is there to say?"

"It does not feel odd to you, that we are about to throw ourselves against an enemy who is tenfold greater in number, with the likely outcome of death, and have never spoken a word in mere conversation?"

"Hardly."

A silence fell. It seemed that he might walk away and leave her to her thoughts. It was not as though she wished it so - she did not wish to be alone, and yet it was not his company that she desired. But then the person she was wishing for was long gone, through years, and now a deed that would separate them permanently should they ever know. All that was left of that person was a ring on a necklace.

"You are not the person I mistook you for." This time she looked him in the eye, her hand unconsciously straining for the necklace hidden under her leather armor. Her face was impassive, her voice unemotional.

"There are other things to be regretful for, more so than simply misjudging my character."

"There is no point in dwelling on the past, especially when the present is so eager to see us dead." She nodded in acquiescence. Those words were true, though she had learned the error of her ways through deed and not speech.

"There are many people who would still see you dead; I am one."

"Then why am I still standing? Did you not hold a blade to my throat?"

"I didn't let you live out of mercy, or pity. You are here to serve as you should have, and you _will_ die." She waved a hand at all those assembled. "We all are here to serve a purpose, and your death would have simply hindered this country all the more."

The conversation lulled for a moment, before another question rose to his lips - perhaps the deciding factor that would allow him to hold a grudging respect that should have already been won after their duel.

"We both know what is to occur; but were it not fated to be this way, would you see the deed done by your own hand?"

"Without hesitation." He nodded, apparently pleased.

"Then I have misjudged you greatly."


	14. Epilogue

"And then a huge light erupted from the tower, bigger than the sun!" The bard's arms went wide and the group of children he was speaking too ooh'd and ahh'd appropriately. Each face was enraptured as they listened to the tale of how the Archdemon was brought low by the Grey Wardens.

"Loghain had driven his sword deep into the skull of the dragon, shattering it and sending all of the darkspawn back into the Deep Roads, never to return!" The children cheered at the happy ending, immediately breaking out into an excited chattering and scrambling to their feet. Some shouted that they were Grey Wardens, while others filled roles of their own appointed heroes. There were certainly enough to go around, after the dust had cleared - the bodies had piled up, seemingly endless.

Her own dear mibari, Breslin, had been taken in the stomach by a blade - he had died defending her. When she slept at night, the room was too quiet without the sound of whines and barks that came from him in his sleep, or even the huffs he would make every now and then; when simply traveling from place to place, her hand would reach out in search of a furred head, only to find empty air. She had had Breslin for a number of years, and he had become an intricate part of her life; perhaps the last tie to her old self. Now he was gone as well, buried in a hero's grave amongst other mabari who had given their lives both at Ostagar and at the siege of Denerim.

Riordan had perished in bringing the Archdemon down to the tower of Fort Drakon. Numerous Redcliffe soldiers who would never see their families again; and, of course, Loghain had sacrificed himself in order to slay the Archdemon. Riordan had kept that particular secret to himself until just before the battle, Elissa thought glumly as she raised the mug of ale to her lips and took a deep swallow.

The Boar's Head tavern had been one of the few places relatively unharmed by the darkspawn attack - which was well enough, considering its decent supply stash, with food, medicine, and other necessities that would be vital in the rebuilding of Ferelden's capital. It had been two months and, though a majority of the city was still in ruins, the citizens had already made do with what they had. Families were sharing space with other families (though it was still racially divided - the elves had even less room in the Alienage, and those who wandered out of it were finding the city to be even crueler than before with what little there was to go around) and most were finding plenty of work in rebuilding.

After the battle was over, she had returned to the palace in a hero's welcome. Only Alistair's cool gaze had leveled her head, brought her back down to earth. They had clasped hands, as propriety and the people demanded: their Theirin leader and Grey Warden hero, working in tandem for peace in the realm. In public they had made nice, smiling and acting as though nothing had changed. In private, he could stand to be in the same room, even speak to her, but it wasn't the same. There was a distance. She had put it there herself, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to will it away - it had waned a little in the two months that had passed, but it would never be the same again.

"King Alistair's set to decree a raise in wages to those who help rebuild the west wall," one man began conversing on the opposite side of the bar. Elissa nursed her drink, listening carefully with the skills Leliana had taught her.

"I heard he's trying to get elves out of the Alienage," another commented, obviously disgusted. "Damn knife-ears need to remember their place."

"At least he's taken to learning," the first continued, seemingly intent on singing his new monarch's praises. "I hear he sneaks out of the castle at night, going into taverns and speaking with the common folk. You ever remember Cailan doing that?"

"No, but Anora had a fair hand. I don't trust this man, not yet. It's too soon." _Good man_, Elissa thought. _Good men, both_. It heartened her to hear that Alistair was beginning to thrive in his new role. There was no reason for him to not enjoy it - now he had a whole realm to protect, new morals to cherish and endorse.

There had even been talk of him looking through the countryside for a bride, a common lass that would put the king on even ground with his new subjects. Show them that he thought himself no different from any other man. A strong political move, meant to win the people. It didn't make her heart hurt any less despite the fact that it was mere rumor. Unconsciously, one hand raised to find the necklace hidden under her breastplate.

Though she had entrance to the palace, Alistair was careful in what he discussed with her; she had first thought it out of spite, but perhaps he was trying to protect her feelings after all. He had asked her to stay on as counselor, a slim pleading in his eyes - so there was something there, faint and flickering, but there. She took another drink, the alcohol feeling delicious down her throat and in her belly. She had to be careful to not imbibe too much - she had a lot of riding before her.

Her eyes ran over the letter on the bar in front of her, fingers brushing the side in thought. Written in a scrawled cursive, the message it imparted was clear-cut. She hadn't shown it to Alistair. It was from Weisshaupt, the Grey Warden headquarters in the Anderfels. A letter from the High Commander himself, inquiring about the most current Blight. Asking if there was now room for a branch of the Wardens in Ferelden. Alistair would've been overjoyed at the letter, immediately sending a reply that yes, of course, _now_ was the time.

After all, Amaranthine, Arl Rendon Howe's estate, had been gifted to the Wardens to use as a base. There was also Soldier's Peak, but it had been reclaimed by the Dryden family (as was only their due, considering what their ancestor had done to bring them so low - strange, how one person's actions would affect an entire people). She had thought it odd that a place she had once known as a child would no longer be home to the people she knew still lived. It had crossed her mind, Thomas and Delilah Howe, their mother...and any other relatives were now on the streets if they were even still alive.

Alistair had offered her a boon, as was befitting her actions. They had stood before the throne, not as Alistair and Elissa, but as King and Hero. They had become characters in a story. She had had it in her power to restore a little to their family, to at least ease the suffering caused by one member's actions. But she had no idea of their roles - had Thomas joined Fergus (oh how sweet and miraculous it had been to find Fergus after the battle, and how heart wrenching to tell him of the fates of his wife and son; it seemed that the grief was never ending, having to relive it over and over) in the battlefield at Ostagar? Had Delilah known of her father's plans? Thomas had always been the bullheaded one, but Delilah was sweet and kind hearted. So unlike her father.

She could not find it in her to forgive the whole family, and had asked for nothing save thanks. What she truly wished was a second chance, an explanation that Alistair would accept, perhaps... forgiveness for her actions, for words spoken in anger. But there was nothing that could be done. So she had asked to save it for a later date, perhaps once she had found her childhood friends and found it in her own heart to pardon them. Until then, she couldn't bear to part with the one last thing Alistair had given her; it would be some time before she would see him again. It seemed that she was creating a habit of saving lover's tokens.

Folding the letter into equal threes and tucking it into a pocket, she set the empty mug on the counter along with two silver pieces. It was a bit much for just a cup of ale, but times were tough now. There was no reason to be stingy, not when she had the ear of the king and all of the resources of the Grey Wardens at her disposal. She walked out of the Boar's Head, slowing as she searched for a familiar face.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Turning to her left, she found Leliana approaching her from where she had been waiting, leaning against one of the tavern's walls so she might not be observed by anyone walking out. The two had become quite close in the short time after the battle; Elissa had found Leliana to be invaluable in her advice and her support, especially since Alistair had become so cold towards her. It was rare for the Grey Warden to be seen outside of the company of her redheaded bard. The two had separated for a few hours - Leliana to gather the necessities for their trip, Elissa to gather the latest news - and had planned to meet just outside of the tavern at an appointed time.

"Close enough." Unable to stop herself from smiling, Elissa slid an arm around Leliana's waist while the redhead returned the motion; the redhead's eyes spoke of what she knew. It was obvious to her that Elissa was hurting from the loss of Alistair. She had imparted an Orlesian saying she had once heard:

_The friend within the man is that part of him which belongs to you and_  
_opens to you a door which never, perhaps, is opened to another. Such a_  
_friend is true, and all he says is true; and he loves you even if he hates_  
_you in other mansions of his heart._

The words were beautiful, especially when spoken in the Orlesian tongue; the translation, however, brought Elissa little comfort. They began a slow walk towards the gates leading through the marketplace towards the main entrance to Denerim. The construction had most eyes turned away from them, but there were a few glances that came their way. Neither woman paid any attention.

Horses were prepared for them at a stable just a few yards outside of the main gate. Leliana claimed a russet mare while Elissa sat astride a gray gelding. They started down the path at a slow trot, neither in any hurry to pass the time.

"Where are we off to?" Elissa gazed out over the horizon - so many possibilities, and yet she was almost afraid to leave Denerim, let alone Ferelden. The sunlight beamed down on her face, and for a moment she closed her eyes. Allowed the bright, warm light to soak into her skin, and a smile blossomed on her face.

This had been something she had promised herself: to live, once all of this was over. Doors had closed while windows had opened, and she would be remiss if she didn't take advantage of the opportunities that lay before her. She turned to her companion.

"Why don't you decide?"


End file.
